


a little less conversation (a little more touch my – )

by chalantness



Series: drabble collections [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Captain America (Movies), DCU (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supergirl (TV 2015), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Six Sexy Words (meme)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 66,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8100745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: Collection of prompt fills from a "six sexy words" meme on tumblr.





	1. Steve/Natasha - #23

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters 1-12 follow [these prompts](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/145235617951/sexy-prompts).  
> Chapters 13-21 follow [these prompts](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/165730521256/the-first-six-sexy-words-meme-was-so-much-fun-last).  
> Chapters 22-32 follow a surprise prompt list for [this meme](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/170053214446/six-sexy-secret-words-meme-yup-im-bringing-it).   
> Chapters 33 and onward follow [these prompts](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/176449844126/18k-follower-celebration).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~760  
>  **for:** [otptilltheend](http://otptilltheend.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** 23\. Straddling his hips and grinding down.

She's always been the more impatient one of the two of them, which really isn't saying much when Steve can't hold out much longer than she can, but he likes to try and be a little more decent about where they do this. Mostly because Tony still likes to remind them about how they broke the towel rack in his guest bathroom when he and Pepper had everyone over on New Year's, but whatever.

That had been a _really_ good New Year's.

" _Fuck_ ," he breathes against her lips, fingers flexing over her hips as she backs him into the kitchen table and kisses him harder. She curves her body against his as she pushes her fingers into his hair and tugs just enough to draw a groan from the back of his throat. He's already hard - she can feel it with how they're pressed together - and she knows it'll take nothing at all for what little self-control he has left to melt under her touch. Which is good, because she needs him _right now_ and doesn't really feel like stumbling their way out of the kitchen and into one of the dozens of guest rooms the penthouse has.

"Thought of you all night," she murmurs into the kiss, scraping her fingernails lightly down his side over the thin material of his shirt. He shudders against her ever so slightly when she grazes the spot on his ribs where he's particularly sensitive and she nips at his lower lip, digs a little harder over that same spot.

" _God_ , Nat." He pulls away a little all of a sudden and she lets out this little whimper, blinking up at him from under her eyelashes. He's probably seeing right through her little act right now, but _fuck_. It's not really an act at all. The fact that his lips are not on hers right this second is a little cruel. " _Fuck_ ," he mutters again, and the low, gravelly tone of his voice tells her that he's two seconds from forgetting that they're in a fairly public place where their friends could walk in on them in any second. Then he licks his lips a little, his fingers flexing over her hips again, and the little that's left of her patience completely dissolves as she shoves him down onto one of the chairs and throws her legs around his hips, sliding onto his lap.

He pushes his fingers into her hair, bringing their lips back together, and then tugs reflexively when she grinds down on him. He _moans_ , and she can feel the vibration of it with the way their chests are pressed together, and she _loves it_. She rolls her hips again, relishing in the little grunts coming from the back of his throat, at the way he pulls a little more at her hair, just enough for it to feel amazing. Then he flattens his other hand over the small of her back and presses her closer, presses her down harder, and she whimpers as she feels him pressing up against her through his jeans.

 _Oh, god_.

It takes all she has to scoot herself away from the sensation of him brushing against her, but gives enough space for her to reach between them and start undoing the buckle of his belt. "Can't believe we're really doing this," he murmurs against her lips, but he doesn't sound even a little worried or reluctant. "You're so impatient," he says, but his breathy chuckle quickly dissolves into a groan when she pops the front of his jeans open and reaches under the waistband to grasp his length.

"What can I say?" she asks, stroking once and watching his head fall back as his eyelids flutter. She gnaws her lower lip - she'll never get tired of this picture - and then grasps the back of the chair with one hand for balance as she tugs her panties aside with her other, lowering just enough so that he's pressing against her entrance. _Fuck_ , that feels _so good_. "You drive me crazy."

"I know the feeling," he grunts, and then presses over the small of her back against, and she lets out this little yelp when he's pushed as deep inside of her as he can get in this position. _Fuck, fuck_. That feels even better, almost enough for her to not be pissed about him trying to turn the tables. She pinches his rib, making him jerk, which makes him press a little more against her, drawing a whimper. "What?" he asks, smirking at her like the perfect little shit he is. "You were taking too long,"

She laughs. Now who's impatient?


	2. Steve/Natasha - #35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1200  
>  **for:** [bloodredmoon87](http://bloodredmoon87.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** 35\. Scream louder and I'll fuck harder.

She's not a particularly outspoken person to begin with, and very few covers have ever required her to at least pretend to be that. Her success as an agent practically depends on her ability to be discreet, to draw just enough attention to get the job done but not enough to compromise the mission entirely, and it's not all that surprising that this way of thinking that was taught to her from Day One is why she's almost as reserved out of the field as she is in it. She's not exactly quiet in bed, and Steve certainly knows how to make her squeal and squirm and moan his name over and over again until it's the only thing she knows how to say. But she can't say that she's much of a screamer.

Something Steve is evidently determined to change.

She whimpers, back arching off of the bed as Steve rolls his hips, his length brushing through her folds, rubbing against her bundle of nerves and causing her body to jolt. She's so, _so_ sensitive, and she doesn't think she can take any more after how many times he's already pushed her towards that edge, holding her there like the little shit he was, and then shoving her right over and working right through her high, dragging it out until she had to push him away. Even then, that sometimes wasn't enough. He always knew that she could take a little more, and that she _wanted_ to take it, too, and tonight is certainly no exception.

He reaches between them, thumb circling over her nerves as he presses his length against her entrance, and _oh, oh_. It's already too much and not enough. He presses a little harder, circles a little tighter, but she whimpers as her walls flutter and she realizes how achingly _empty_ she is right now. "No, no," she protests, curling her fingers tighter around the sheets as she tries to press her hips away from his touch.

Her eyes are closed, so it sort of startles her when Steve's lips are on her throat, brushing a wet kiss there. "Need me in you?" he murmurs into her skin, and she feels him smirk against the curve of her neck when she jerks her head in a nod. He kisses her skin again, angling his hips so that he's pressing into her a little more but still _not enough_ , and he sort of just holds her there until her heart stutters in her chest and she whines his name. It's the closest she's ever come to begging, but she hardly cares. She'll beg and plead for him and only him. Then he rolls his hips against hers, sinking in deep, rubbing against her already oversensitive nerves as he fills her, and her lips part in a quiet moan. " _Fuck_ , Nat," he grunts.

" _Steve_ ," she breathes, nails scraping at his hips. He needs to move.

Why isn't he moving?

"You want to come, huh?" he asks, voice low and right next to her ear. Her heart skips. He hardly _ever_ talks like that, and it sends a jolt right through her core. She blinks her eyes open, vision blurring into focus to find him pulling his head back so she can see the smirk on his lips. He dips his head down, presses his tongue against hers in a wet, lingering kiss, and then brushes another kiss to the corner of her mouth before saying, "Let me hear it."

She swallows hard. "W-What?"

He nips at her lower lip. "Let me hear it," he repeats, and then rolls his hips slowly, too slowly, drawing another whimper. He nips at her lower lip again and her heart thumps in her chest as she realizes what he means. "Let me hear _you_ , and I'll give you exactly what you want, exactly how you want it," he tells her, kissing her one last time before pulling away. She automatically tips her head up to follow his lips, but the hand that's in her hair gives a gentle tug and she moans at the sensation. _Fuck_. She's never really seen this side of him in bed before and she _loves it_.

He continues moving slowly, achingly slow, and moans his name and tries to arch up against him, but his other hand is on her hip, holding her in place. "Steve, please," she whines, and then he pulls out of her and pushes in a little quicker, a little harder, making her tip her head back and let out a moan that sounds absolutely _filthy_ to her own ears. He seems to like this, because he snaps his hips against hers just as quickly, establishing this pace, and her walls flutter around him. It should be embarrassing how close she already is, but she honestly can't remember right now how many orgasms he's already given her, so she really couldn't care less if she doesn't last as long this time. Her entire body feels like it's on _fire_.

"That's it, Nat," he says, breath warm against her face. He's probably dying to kiss her as much as she's dying to kiss him, but she knows he won't let her, either, because he wants to hear her - and, oh _god_ , is he hearing her. She's practically wailing, voice high and sharp and echoing off the walls as he moves faster and faster, angles his hips and sinks in even deeper, and she lets out a keening cry as she falls apart, bring thrust right into the heat of her orgasm.

She moans again, louder, higher, and he keeps fucking her through her high. "Oh, _god, Steve!_ " she exclaims, body shaking and arching off of the bed, but he's pressing her back down against the mattress, holding her in place as he keeps going. It's almost too much, but she keeps moaning right through her orgasm, keeps crying sharply at every delicious thrust as he snaps his hips and starts driving her right towards another one. Her muscles ache, and her bones feel like they're liquid, and she can't even keep a firm enough grip on the sheets, she's so disoriented by the haze of her pleasure. "Steve, Steve," she cries out, his attempt at creating any kind of pace dissolving completely as he nears his own high. She manages to lift her hand, pushing it through his hair and tugging his face to hers so she can kiss the underside of his jaw, putting her lips right by his ear as she lets out another filthy moan and falls apart right on the heels of the first orgasm.

He groans loudly, falling apart inside her only seconds after, and his voice sounds absolutely wrecked as he mutters her name over and over again.

" _Fuck,_ " he breathes after a long moment, once they've barely caught their breaths.

She feels herself smile. "I didn't realize you were so kinky."

It's a joke, because she actually knows very well how kinky he can be, and tonight only showed her that she's still got more to figure out. He chuckles, lifting his head up as best as he can so that he can meet her eyes. "I just really love your voice," he admits, and she's a little overwhelmed by the words and still a little disoriented from her orgasm that all she can do in response is pull his lips to hers in a kiss, but he doesn't seem to mind.


	3. Steve/Natasha - #8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1300  
>  **for:** [marvelousdorito](http://marvelousdorito.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** 8\. I dare you to try me.

She shouldn't really be surprised considering how he's been making those eyes at her all night. One thing they were quick to realize is that they both get that same high off of an adrenaline rush that buzzes in their veins after a particularly exciting mission, and that almost always translates into a need to tear each other's clothes off as soon as they're alone. They don't always make it to their bed, or even to their apartment, because she's not exactly known for her patience outside of the field and evidently neither is Steve. Tonight was supposed to be a little different, though, because they'd already made plans to have a movie night with the others at Tony and Pepper's penthouse. She hadn't had a mission of her own like Steve had with Sam, so it didn't really cross her mind to make an excuse for them not to come until Steve was already through the door, eyes dark and a little hazy with desire, lips curving into that slight smirk of his that always, always makes her knees feel a little weak. He'd had an eventful afternoon, she could tell, which means that they were going to have an eventful night of their own as soon as they got home.

If he could even wait until then, at least.

They're all sprawled out across the plush carpets of Tony's media room, the lights off and some kind of thriller projected on the huge screen. She's sitting with Steve behind everyone else, between his legs with her back pressing against his chest, and she has a blanket drawn up to her shoulders because she gets cold easily but Tony doesn't, so he doesn't bother turning on the heat.

The brush of Steve's fingertips is so light that she thinks she imagines it at first. But then, a moment later, it's there again, pressing purposefully, and she sucks in a quiet breath as she tilts her head to look at him. His eyes are trained on the screen, but she knows he's not paying any attention to what they're watching. _She's_ barely been able to pay any attention, either. She can feel him through his jeans with the way they're pressed together, and that had just been after a few flirty remarks, a few lingering touches promising that they'll have their fun once they're home, but she honestly should've known better.

Then he curls his fingers over the front, pressing a little harder through the thin material of her leggings and panties, and her heart skips in her chest as a jolt of excitement shoots through her veins. They've done this with their friends just in the other room before, but _never_ with them sitting just a few feet away. She gnaws on her lower lip, and she knows the tingle that slides down her spine is more anticipation than it is fear of getting caught.

She's already a little damp from all the teasing earlier, all of the heated looks he'd thrown her way, so it's really taking him nothing at all to get her body humming. He circles his fingers, pressing hard, but not hard enough to be anything more than a ghost of a tease through the layers of clothing she has on, and she arches her hips a little into his touch. He breathes out a quiet chuckle against her temple, brushes a light kiss there, and she can feel the question in gesture. He may have been the one to initiate, but he wants to make sure she really is okay with this - with doing this with their friends there to see her like this if they happen to turn their way. The thought is embarrassing even to her, who has very little shame herself, but it's also kind of _exciting_.

So she tips her head back against his shoulder, shifts her hips against his hand, and of course he's quick comply.

He moves his fingers up, tucks them slowly under the waistband of her leggings, and she _almost_ makes this little sound when his fingertips dip into the wet of her folds. He slides them slowly down to her entrance, teases the spot for a moment and then traces all the way back up, rubbing against her bundle of nerves and making her hips jump. He shifts a little, bracing his free hand a little harder against the carpet, and she angles her legs a little further apart.

He parts her with his fingers and then circles her clit once, twice, her lips parting in a moan that she can't let out. Then he pushes two fingers into her suddenly, palm flat against her nerves, and, _oh, oh_. He's always been really, really good at this part, his fingers sliding in and out purposefully, curling and pressing and teasing and _fuck_. It really won't take him much at all to push her over that edge, which is good, because she hasn't been paying much attention to the movie but she can tell that it'll be over soon enough. He definitely won't have time to tease her like he usually does, driving her right towards that high and then keeping her there forever. That's the part he loves most, she knows.

He slides his fingers back out, and she only really has a second to feel her walls flutter as if in protest at the emptiness before he's circling over her clit again, rubbing harder and tighter with every stroke. She curls her toes, digs them even harder into the carpet as she tries her best to suck in a gasp as quietly as possible. Her skin feels like it's on fire, and her lungs are starting to burn in her effort to be quiet. She'd never been much of a talker during this before, never made all that much voice, but Steve had been particularly adamant in changing this, reducing her into a trembling, moaning, begging mess until she made it clear what she wanted. Now it feels almost _wrong_ not to cry out in frustration, not to whimper at the relentlessness of his calloused fingertips rubbing over her nerves.

He kisses the spot on her neck just below her ear, one of his favorite places to pay attention to when he knows she's close, and she bites down harder on her lip and nods a little. He nods, too, kissing that spot again as he presses harder.

Her lips part, her heart thrumming, and it takes whatever control she can muster to not cry out his name.

She's there, _right there_ , and then he dips his fingers into her, hard, curling them as he presses his palm flat against her, grinding the heel of his hand right over her bundle of nerves, and she squeezes her eyes shut so tightly that she sees stars. She doesn't have any sense of anything in the middle of an orgasm, and Steve doesn't have a free hand to keep her still, so she rolls her hips once, twice, three times, body jolting with every graze to her clit as he keeps working his fingers through her high. Then he pulls them back out, rubs at her nerves until she very nearly whimpers, weakly pushing at his wrist to get him to stop, because there's no way she's not going to cry out in pleasure if he tries to work her to a second one right now.

Her legs are still shaking a little as the last of orgasm washes through her veins, and she turns her head to press her cheek against his chest, hair falling in front of her face. He presses a kiss to the back of her head, pulls his hand out from her leggings and wipes her wetness off of his fingers on his jeans.

"Man, Nat's really out of it," Sam says. She doesn't know if it's been a few seconds or a few minutes later, but her senses haven't entirely come back to her, and maybe that's a good thing, because she can't bring herself to move and that's apparently enough to convince the others that she's just asleep.

"Yeah, she is," Steve says, and it takes all she has not to laugh.


	4. Sam/Sharon - #5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1000  
>  **for:** [doheyed](http://doheyed.tumblr.com/)  
>  **prompt:** 5\. Moan my name as you come.

It's so, _so_ unprofessional of them to do this on a mission, even though the assignment is technically complete and they've already held their end of the operation, at least until Tony and Peter can get past the encryption on those files that she and Sam had copied. That kind of thing usually only takes about half an hour, tops, but that's more than enough time for them to work with.

They have a room in the hotel across the street from where the charity gala was being held, under a name that's not hers, matching the fake ID tucked into her clutch purse and the falsified passports tucked into her carry-on that she'd tossed elsewhere in the room. She's a little too distracted to remember where that happens to be at the moment, with the way Sam is teasing his fingers along the hem of her cocktail dress, but it's rather important that one of them figures out where it is considering that's where the condoms happen to be.

Sam doesn't seem all that concerned by this, at least, not at this very moment, because he's pushing her down gently until she's lying flat on her back atop the mattress, her legs bent at the knees over the edge of the bed, and she feels a ripple of anticipation wash over her when his hands are sliding along the tops of her thighs and under her dress, thumbs hooking under the waistband of her panties. She remembers a fleeting thought that had occurred to her while she was distracting their guy in the ballroom, when his hand was on her hip, just barely grazing the dip of her thong. It's a lacy, red little thing, and something she'd thrown on at the last second, just in case her distraction had to go as far to where he was taking her back to his room.

It didn't, thankfully, and the appreciative groan Sam lets out from the back of his throat when he sees it for himself makes her smile.

Red is his favorite color, after all.

"You like?" she asks, reaching between her legs to slide her fingertips over his scalp, gently cradling the back of his neck. His eyes are sparkling, a playful smirk on the edge of his lips, and she feels her heart flutter a little at the sight. As incredibly, incredibly hot as it had been to see the flicker of jealousy in his expression in her peripheral as she flirted with their mark, it still hadn't made her blood thrum as much as the expression he's giving her right now. She knows his jealousy hadn't been a possessive kind of thing, but she knows it can't exactly be easy to watch your girlfriend purposefully come onto another man, especially when the piece in her necklace had been transmitting every filthy comment the guy had been making over their earpieces.

He nods, taps his finger against her to get her to lift her hips so he can slide the thing down her thighs. "Oh, I definitely like," he says.

She brushes her thumb over his skin. "Good, because it's _all yours_."

She's talking about more than the underwear, and the slow way he blinks his eyes at her tells her that he hears what she's really saying.

He tilts his head forward, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh, his breath sending tingles as it ghosts across her skin, and she tips her head back into the mattress as she lets out a sharp, shallow breath, heart thrumming in her chest. Then he licks a stripe up her center, tongue flicking right next to her bundle of nerves, and she lets out a moan from the back of her throat, scraping her nails lightly against his skin. He flattens his tongue against her, laps at her folds slowly, teasingly, and then grasps her hips with his hands and holds her against the mattress when she tries to roll against his mouth.

He teases at her entrance, pushes in just barely, and then a little more, and then slides right out and up through her folds. Her hips jump as he presses against her clit and then flattens there, pressing more and more and making her thighs shake. "Oh, _oh god_ ," she breathes, back arching, neck curving as she presses her head even harder against the mattress. He closes his lips around her, sucks once, twice, and then lets go with a wet little sound that shouldn't shoot right to her core, but it does and she hardly cares.

"That's it," he says, working his tongue against her faster, harder, driving her right towards that edge. She's so close and he can tell this, too, because he groans against her folds and the vibration makes her body jolt. He pauses for a moment, long enough to pull his head away, walls fluttering, _aching_ , and she lets out this little mewl in protest. "I want you to say my name, okay?" he asks. His tone is too gentle, too sweet to be a demand, and it makes her blink her eyelids open to find him staring up at her almost intently. There's something in just behind his eyes that reminds her of how he'd looked in the ballroom, and her heart squeezes a little in her chest. He's not trying to guilt her about this, she knows. He'd _never_ do that, just like he'd never, ever doubt her feelings for him, especially when he knows she's just doing it for the mission.

But he's still feeling _something_ from earlier, and she's more than willing to do whatever it takes to make him forget about it altogether.

She nods a little, scratches her nails a little harder, because she knows how much he loves how it feels. She holds his gaze as she breathes, " _Sam_ ," in this low, hushed voice, and maybe she almost sounds like she's begging, but she doesn't mind. Not when it makes him smile at her like that, and then his tongue is over her folds against, more insistent, more determined to push her over that edge _right this second_ , and she rolls her hips against his lips. "Oh, _oh_ ," she whimpers, voice growing higher with ever flick of his tongue over her clit, and then he closes his lips around it and sucks and her whole world dissolves into heat.

" _Sam!_ " she cries out as she falls apart, and she feels his lips curve into a smile against her folds as he works her through her high.


	5. Steve/Natasha - #10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1300  
>  **for:** [fanboy18376](https://fanboy18376.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** 10\. Tease me. Touch me. Taste me.

_This_ , she knows, has to be one of her favorite sights yet: Steve staring up at her, cheeks flushed, eyes dark and hazy behind heavy eyelids, lips wet from their kiss and smudged with the pink of her lip gloss. She's usually the one that comes home a little buzzed from Tony's parties, because most alcohols burn right through Steve's system, and that was never something she considered unfortunate before tonight. Steve didn't seem the type that would drink much to begin with, serum or not, and neither was she. But, about an hour ago, Tony had produced a flask of Asgardian ale gifted to him during Thor's last visit, and the little smirk Steve had gotten when Tony challenged him to a few rounds of shots was absolutely _sexy_.

It took four for him to pull her onto his lap and kiss her hot and heavy for everyone to see, fingers digging into her hips, a groan vibrating through his chest as she rolled her hips against him. Five and he was whispering absolutely filthy things into her ear, his words slurred ever so slightly but still every bit as commanding as she knows he is, and she'd actually shivered in anticipation.

Six shots and then they're stumbling into one of the guest rooms and she's fumbling with the lock and then all but shoving him down onto the chaise lounge, straddling his hips with hers and rolling against him as she scrapes her fingernails down his chest through his dress shirt. All she had was a few glasses of champagne, but she can taste the alcohol on his tongue and it's making her a little dizzy and she loves it. She grinds her hips, the lace material of her panties snatching against her wet folds as she rolls over the top of his thigh. Her hand is on his other, squeezing, pressing, his length becoming harder and harder through his slacks as she digs her fingers closer and closer. He's groaning, breath uneven against her lips as they kiss, hand tugging at her hair ever so slightly. He's not being rough, exactly, but he's definitely lost a little bit of that control he has whenever he's handling her - not because he's afraid of breaking her or something stupid like that, but because he never, ever wants to hurt her.

She thinks _this_ kind of hurt hardly counts, though, because he's digging his fingertips into her scalp, his other hand scratching down her back where the dip of her dress leaves it bare and completely open to his touch, and she _loves it_.

She wants him to be inside of her, but she wants to do a little something else first, so she kisses him harder, distracting his already clouded senses as she works the buckle of his belt undone and reaches under his waistband. The groan he lets out when her fingers circle around him is low and gravelly and absolutely _wrecked_ already, and she feels a flutter of pride through the haze of her desire. She sure as hell holds her own with Steve and always has, and being in bed is really no different, but of course he's going to have more control than she does. He can hold out longer, can endure so much more, thanks to that damn serum, and it's as much of a blessing as it is a curse. He likes to play with her, to tease her, reducing her into a puddle of pleasure and nerves under his touch, and she loves letting him have his way with her, so she hardly minds. Steve is a commanding person, after all, and she's always been very good at following orders.

Tonight is different, though. She strokes him over, squeezes ever so slightly and nips at the spot at his jaw that's always been a sensitive one for him, and he doesn't try to do the same for her. He's always, always making sure she gets hers first, and often more than once, and of course she loves it. Of course she loves _him_ for it. But she loves _this_ , too, having Steve completely melt into her touch, until he's almost begging for her to let him fall over that edge. She can already feel him pulsing in her grip and it makes her lick her lips, pausing to study the crease of his forehead, the way his closed eyelids flutter under her touch as he breathes unevenly. She gets distracted by it, honestly, and forgets to keep going until Steve tips his head back a little more and groans from the back of his throat, digging his hand harder into her hip. " _Nat_ ," he murmurs, and she slides her fingers up, circles his tip and relishing in the way his body jerks under her.

"Feels good?" she asks, even though she really doesn't need to. He nods quickly, a whimper falling from his lips, and that has her pulling her hand off of him and sliding until his length is hard and pressing against her wet folds through the damn lace of her panties. He moans, moves her hips against him again, and the motion catches her by surprise as he presses right against her bundle of nerves and makes her whimper, head falling forward to press a kiss to his temple. She angles her hips, letting him slide through her folds a little more and drawing a deep rumble from his chest. "How about this?" she asks.

" _So good_ , Nat," he groans, trying to meet her hips with his, but he can't quite in this position and she can tell it's a little frustrating. "Fuck, _fuck_ ," he mutters.

She breathes out a giggle against his cheek - it's ironic how much of a swearer Steve actually is, particularly with sex, considering how much everyone teases him about not liking that kind of talk. Then he lets out this wrecked moan that has her body tingling, walls fluttering a little, and she pulls away from him and slides off too quick for him to catch. He barely has a chance to whimper out her name in confusion before she's on her knees between his legs and closing her mouth around him. He cries out through a hoarse throat and the sound of it goes right between her legs, her walls fluttering more, achingly empty. She has half a mind to slide her fingers over herself, but she wants _this_ more, wants to see Steve fall apart, so she sucks over his tip and then takes him a little deeper, moving in rhythm with the jerk of his hips.

"Nat, I - I, oh, _fuck_ ," he stutters, words slurring together. He sounds as desperate as she feels and it makes her smile as she pulls her mouth off of him, taking a moment to memorize the pained expression on his face as she held him right at that edge.

"I know, baby," she says softly, soothingly, scraping her nails over the tops of his thighs. She can feel her wetness on his slacks and it makes her shiver. "I need you to come for me, okay?" she asks, as if he needs the motivation, but then she's closing her mouth around him and he groans out her name, tangling his fingers into her hair and tugging as gently as possible as he snaps his hips up and rides out his high. She moves with him, taking all of it, all of _him_ , and then eases off of him as the last of his orgasm washes over him.

Had he been any other man, he might've slumped against the lounge, but he evidently still has enough energy to keep himself sitting upright, and when she climbs back over his lap, his hands automatically move around her hips to hold her up, to hold her close. He smiles at her lazily, eyes still a little glazed over, but she can still see the sparkle in them as he watches her swipe her thumb over the wetness against her lips and then lick it from her skin.

"You're going to be the death of me," he tells her, and she can hear it in his voice that it'll take no time at all for him to be ready to go.

"Well, I am the _Black Widow_ , aren't I?" she asks, and he breathes out a laugh as he brings their lips together.


	6. Steve/Natasha - #3, 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~2000  
>  **for:** [izzycheeese](http://izzycheeese.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** 3\. Watching us fuck in the mirror. + 24. Please let me watch you masturbate.

She wakes up in the middle of the night with a throb between her legs, her skin tingling, and it sort of startles her how breathless she is right now because her dream… It hadn't felt _real_ , exactly, because not even her most vivid imagination can compare to how Steve's hands feel on her, how his lips press into her skin and his body is large and warm and completely surrounding her. No, nothing could even begin to feel as amazing as it does to be with him, and she knows that's why she's been a little restless these last few days. He's been gone a week and she knew he would be, because Maria had let her read the details of their assignment and it was going to require him to be away for a while. She hardly holds it against him, but she _misses_ him, and evidently that manifests into her being unable to sleep because she's so hot and bothered.

She pushes her fingers through her hair, kicks the blanket off of her legs and dips her fingers across the flat of her stomach, over where her desire is coiling tighter and tighter until she's hooking her fingers under the waistband of her panties and pushing them down her legs. Her heart is thrumming a little faster in her chest, her breaths growing a little hotter and heavier, and when she closes her eyelids, she pictures Steve hovering above her, giving her that little smirk of his as he slides appreciatively down her body, taking in the view of her open and wet beneath him. She's seen that look in his eyes so often that she can picture it perfectly, and when she pushes her fingers into her wetness, she pretends for a moment that it's him. She knows it's obviously not, and she can only take the image so far, because her fingers are more slender than his, her skin softer and certainly not as warm, even as she slides it over her wet heat.

" _Steve_ ," she moans. She can get herself off easily enough, of course, but she knows it'll be practically nothing compared to _him_ and how amazing it would feel if it was him. This might not even be enough, and she whimpers at the thought.

She _needs_ him. Oh, _god_ , she needs him.

She works her fingers a little faster, rubs circles around her clit before dipping back down to tease at her entrance and then repeating this, pressing a little harder every time. She sinks two fingers into herself, curling, her back arching a little off of the bed as she parts her lips in a little mewl, and strokes like this a few times before sliding out and over her clit again, rolling the bundle of nerves with the pad of her fingertips. She lets her touch linger here, heart thumping in her chest as her breath stutters, and she's desperate to come that her senses barely register anything outside the pleasure coursing through her veins. She vaguely hears the sound of the front door being unlocked, and then the soft, digital voice of their home system sounds, welcoming Steve back. Her heart skips once, twice, whimpering his name, but she can't quite bring herself to stop. She manages to slower her fingers, though, slowing down her precipice as much as possible as she hears his heavy footsteps padding softly around the apartment before making his way to their bedroom. She bends her legs at her knees a little more, angles them open a little wider and whimpers his name.

" _Natasha_ ," he says, his voice low and gravelly and completely surprised.

She stalls her fingers, her heat aching in protest, but she takes as best a breath as she can and blinks her eyes open, vision blurring into focus through the dark of the room to find Steve standing just inside the doorway, lips parted as he stares at her. His gaze is heavy as their eyes meet, and he swallows, hard, when she sort of just blinks her eyelashes at him, managing a small smile.

"Hi," she breathes out. It's ridiculous, all things considered, but she doesn't care. She can't collect herself enough to say anything else.

"Hi," he echoes, sounding a little choked. He swallows again, crosses the room in a few easy strides, and she sucks in a breath when she feels the bed dip as he sits on the edge of it, his gaze never leaving hers. "Hi," he says again, and then leans forward and presses his lips to hers, tongue sliding against hers when she parts her mouth in a soft whimper, because, _fuck_ , it feels so amazing just to kiss him again. She starts pulling her hand away, about to take his face in her grasp, but then he circles his fingers around her wrist without breaking their kiss and holds her there, drawing another whimper. He nips at her lower lip once, twice, and then pulls away, fingers loosening around her wrist. "Let me watch," he says. It's a request as much as it is a demand, somehow, and she nods a little too quickly, but she hardly cares. He seems just as eager as she is.

She starts sliding her fingers again, rubbing right over her clit, and then parting her folds and circling with her middle finger, teasing herself just like she knows he would if it was his hands, and he groans in response. Her gaze is on him as his eyes are trained between her legs, watching every little motion, watching how easily her fingers are sliding through her heat, watching how her wetness slides over the inside of her thighs. It's getting harder and harder to focus, to keep her eyes open when she's bringing herself closer and closer to that edge, but she wants to see the look on his face when she makes herself fall apart. She _needs_ to see it.

It certainly doesn't disappoint, either, when she's arching her hips off of the bed and whimpering his name under her breath over and over again, so, _so_ close to her high. He looks mesmerized, and almost a little pained, like he wants to touch her as badly as she wants him to, and she feels his hand curl and uncurl where it's resting right next to her hip, like he doesn't quite know what he wants to do. "Nat, curl your…" he starts, but she already knows where he's going with that, what he'd be doing if it was him, and she curls her fingers and flattens her palm right over her clit as she rolls her hips up, and she cries his name from the back of her throat as she falls apart. She only catches the completely aroused look on his voice for a second before she's closing her eyes at the force of her orgasm, but that's fine. That's more than enough time for the image to burn itself into her memory as she completely falls apart.

She's barely started settling down, too, when she hears the sound of his belt and his pants falling to the floor, and she yelps a little in surprise when he's grasping her gently and maneuvering her onto her knees. She's a little too disoriented by the motion, senses still too hazy with the orgasm still trembling over her, and she whimpers when she feels him kneel on the bed behind her, his hard length pressing right up against her sensitive heat. It makes her thighs shake, but his hands are firm on her hips, keeping her in place.

He rolls his hips once, twice, rubbing deliciously against her nerves and making her _shake_ as she cries out. She reaches behind, hooking a hand over the back of his neck in an attempt to keep herself upright, and she feels her heart skip a beat when she finds herself staring forward and into the large, standing mirror propped up against the wall. She sees them in the reflection, sees his length between her legs, sees her wetness glistening on the inside of her thighs. Her face is totally flushed, her hair a mess, and the expression on Steve's face is incredibly, incredibly _sexy_ as he smirks at her ever so slightly in the reflection, flexing his fingers over her hips. She watches as he dips his head to the curve of her neck, pressing a kiss there, and she can't quite tear her eyes away as he angles his hips and then starts pressing into her. Her lips part, her walls already fluttering, still so, so sensitive from her first orgasm, and she knows it'll take nothing at all to make her come again.

And it _doesn't_. She's a little overwhelmed by seeing everything in the reflection as it happens to her, seeing his hips roll against her as he presses all the way and then pulls out, and then one of his hands slides up her stomach and under the hem of her camisole, fingers tugging at one of her nipples as he angles himself a little more and sinks in even deeper. She tosses her head back as she lets out a cry, her orgasm almost taking her by surprise, and she sucks in a breath and almost falls forward when he keeps thrusting right through it, but he keeps her upright. Her thighs are burning, _shaking_ , as she struggles to keep herself up when her muscles are nothing but a puddle of nerves, but she knows Steve's got her, so she's not all that concerned about it at all. She lets herself ride the high, cries his name over and over again as he picks up the pace, and she manages to flutter her eyelids open for a moment to see the image of them like this, her body completely draped against his, his hands calloused and warm and firm as they slide of her skin, worshiping every inch of her as he keeps her upright.

His face tightens a little, a grunt coming from the back of his throat, and it almost startles her when she feels his thrusts becoming a little more frantic. He'd been a lot closer than she thought, probably from watching as she got herself off, but now seeing _this_ , seeing them, is as overwhelming to him as it had been to her, because he usually holds up a little longer. Not that she minds, not even in the slightest, because he's _always_ about staying in control, in holding out as long as possible, and she loves that he's so turned on right now that he doesn't even care for it anymore.

She's whimpering and whimpering, clawing at the skin of his neck as she cries out. It's almost too much, and she doesn't know how her body is right on the edge of a third orgasm, but it is, and she's _right there_ with him. She can feel it.

"One more, Nat," he mutters in her ear, reaching between them to circle her clit, and her body jolts as she cries out his name. He circles once, twice, thrusting harder and harder. "With me, okay? Come with me," he says, and then he rubs his calloused fingertips over and over again on her clit, relentless as her orgasm spasms through her body. His hands are still fumbling between her legs as her walls flutter, and then a few more thrusts and he's right there with her, falling apart with her name on his lips. He rolls his hips a few more times through their orgasms, still working over her nerves, but she whimpers and bats his hand away, knowing that she'll come again in seconds, but she doesn't know if her body could take that much all at once.

It takes a moment to come back to herself, and she moans and whimpers when he finally pulls out, his length still pressing between her legs as she slumps her body against his. Her lungs are burning, and her heart is hammering in her chest. She feels _wrecked_ , but in the best way possible. She wants to kiss him, but she honestly doesn't have the energy to do even that, which is fine, because then he's grasping her chin in his fingers and tilting her head back so he can press his lips over hers. The kiss is slow, almost lazy, but it's still perfect.

"Welcome home," she breathes out, smiling against his lips, and he chuckles softly and kisses her a little harder in reply.


	7. Steve/Natasha - #6, 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **word count:** ~1700  
>  **for:** [seaductress](http://seaductress.tumblr.com/) and [allamaeatingramen](http://allamaeatingramen.tumblr.com/)  
>  **prompt:** 6\. Do not be gentle with me. + 16. Take me now. Take me rough.

She's seen Steve angry before. She knows just how frustrated he can get, just how hard he'll lash out if he's pushed over the line.

This is different, though.

 _This_ isn't rage. This is _hunger_ , the heat of desire radiating off of his body in waves as he pushes her against the wall and all but slams the door to the closet shut behind them, clicking the lock into place. Someone will still be able to let themselves in, of course, because this is the supply closet of the infirmary room and obviously there are several dozens of people that have access to open this door, but Steve doesn't seem to care much about that in this moment and she can't bring herself to, either. Her eyes barely have a chance to adjust to the dark when she feels Steve's body crowding her space, backing her hard against the shelves behind her and causing the things on them to jump at the force. She lets out a little sound in surprise, but then Steve's lips are sealing over hers, the kiss hot and heavy and with a sense of desperation that makes her whimper.

His body is totally tense, almost rigid, his fingers at her hips flexing as if curling into fists, and he presses his body a little harder against hers. She knows he's still very much pissed off, but the fact that he really has nothing concrete to be pissed off at is even more frustrating. Steve has a thick skin, and while things may not roll off of his back as easily as people assume, he's pretty good about keeping himself collected. Very few things are able to instantly set Steve off, to the point where he's snapping at others and visibly pissed off, almost shaking because he's so upset - but her getting hurt has always been a sure way to do exactly that. He's protective, yes, but he's also _terrified_ of something happening to her, of losing her, that it throws him so out of sorts. She thinks that once upon a time, she might've been annoyed by this. She knows this isn't him placing doubt in her abilities or blame in anyone who'd been working with her whenever she got hurt. He has faith in all of them and always has, but that kind of fear can close over you quickly, lapsing every sense of control.

They've all experienced it. It's natural when someone is so important to you.

And maybe being rough with her might be the opposite of what you would expect considering that she's hurt, but she's fine. She just has a cut on her forearm and a bruise coloring over most of her left rib, but she'd gotten the stitches and no bones were broken, so whatever. She's endured worse, and she knows that with Steve, the best way to deal with this kind of frustration isn't to ease him back. It's to let him ride it out. And maybe he could never truly take all that rage out on her, because he's definitely capable of hurting her if he was that far gone, but he seems to know just how much he needs to dish out and just how much she can take for it to actually relieve him, and she loves that he's comfortable enough to do so.

He pulls his lips off of hers and seals them over her neck, nipping and sucking the column of her throat as he all but yanks down the zipper of her suit. They both stumble a bit to get her out of her suit, and no, it certainly wouldn't be the first time he just ripped her out of the thing if he did that right now, but it's a little harder to think of a convincing reason for damage to her suit considering she's just gotten back from a mission and has already been seen for her injuries, so. But they manage just fine, and then she's standing in her bra and panties and he's pushing her back against the wall, slanting his lips over hers again in a heated kiss as he reaches between them and presses his hand over the front of her panties. She's already wet, and it's really not taking much to get her even wetter, not with him stroking over her as roughly as he is right now.

"Come on, Steve," she whispers.

 _Just let go_ , she means, and she knows he hears it, because he grunts a little in response and then works his belt off in one motion, pushes his pants down in another. She hooks her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and starts pushing them down her legs, but then his arm is hooking around her waist and hoisting her off, her panties falling to the ground as she instinctively wraps her legs around him, arms circling around his neck. He's already hard and pressing between her legs and a shiver ripples over her in anticipation, and then he's sort of shoving her back against the shelves as he angles his hips and pushes in one deep stroke, and her head definitely knocks something over when she tosses it back in a moan, but she doesn't care, not even a little.

As much as she loves it when he's gentle, when he takes his time, when he teases and whispers sweet things into her ear, she also loves _this_ \- the force of his body against hers, the strength and power rippling through his muscles as he handles her a little rougher than she's used to. He doesn't treat her like she might break, but he generally doesn't treat her like _this_ , either, and oh does it feel _incredible_ when he does. The shelves are biting into her shoulders, and the way he's thrusting up into her is already relentless, already delicious.

He shifts her up a little higher, sinks himself even deeper with the motion as he hooks his finger under the clasp of her bra and snaps it open, letting it fall to the floor as he dips his head down, closes his mouth around one of her nipples and sucks hard as his fingers tug at the other. She cries out, trying to roll her hips down on him as best as she can with this angle, trying to meet his strokes, but he's keeping his thrusts uneven and she whimpers when she can't quite find the right pace. He's doing this on purpose, she knows, because he loves having her at the palm of his hand like this. It's not really a kink thing, or maybe it is, but she knows that it's less about him being the one in control and more about him loving how much pleasure she gets from him and only him.

He pulls his mouth off of her and then closes his lips around her other breast as he snaps his hips up harder, deeper. The edge of one of the shelves is digging into the small of her back, but something about it feels amazing right now and she's fairly certain it has to do with the pleasure rippling through her veins as he drives her closer and closer to her high.

"Steve, I - _oh, oh_ ," she moans, eyelids fluttering closed as she throws her head back against the shelves again, and the sound she lets out is loud and _filthy_ as he angles his hips and brushes right against her sweet spot. He lifts his head up and stifles her moans with a kiss, because as much as he loves to her her let go, they're still in an infirmary closet and the walls are far from soundproof. He groans from the back of his throat, reaches between them and presses the pad of his thumb over her clit, and her body jerks. His press is relentless, though, circling over and over again, pressing harder and harder, and she feels her walls start to flutter as stars start to dance behind her eyelids.

She whimpers into his mouth as she falls apart, her arms tightening around his neck and her fingernails digging into his shoulders as she tries to hold on, but her every muscle feels like liquid right now, so doing so it a little difficult. She knows Steve isn't going to drop her, though so she lets herself ride out her high and kisses him through the burn in her lungs because he's still rubbing over her bundle of nerves through her orgasm and it's _too much_.

He's close now, too, her walls fluttering tightly around him as he works her through her orgasm, and he groans lowly as he presses against her a little harder, forehead dropping to her collarbone as he lets out hot breaths against her skin. He's still rolling his thumb over her nerves, driving her right towards a second orgasm on the heels of the first, and she doesn't know whether or not she wants to cry out for him to stop or to keep going, but a few more thrusts and she doesn't really have a choice. She's being thrown right into the heat of another climax, and she bites down on her lower lip so hard in an attempt to stifle her cries that she swears she must draw blood. Steve lifts his head up, presses his face into her neck, and all it takes is a few more deep thrusts and he's falling apart right after her, moaning against the column of her throat and sending vibrations over her skin. He pulls out his hand from between them and grasps onto one of the shelves by her head, bracing them as he thrusts a little more frantically through his high, and she's so, _so_ sensitive at this point that every little jerk from him just drags out her orgasm even more.

His body almost sags against hers as he comes down from his high, keeping her pressed there as they both try to catch their breaths. She pushes her fingers through his hair, cradles the back of his head. His body is totally pliant against hers now, the tension completely dissolved from his muscles. It makes her smile.

"Thank you," he exhales softly into her skin, and she tips her head forward and kisses his hair, breathing out a little content sigh of her own.


	8. Steve/Natasha - #31, 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1700  
>  **for:** [natrogersfics](http://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/), [hailfangirls](http://hailfangirls.tumblr.com/), [taylorjp321](http://taylorjp321.tumblr.com/), [lanaparrillaismyidol](http://lanaparrillaismyidol.tumblr.com/), and [agirlwithwinter](http://agirlwithwinter.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** 31\. Spooning naked as you fall asleep. + 34. Face Down. Ass Up. Cock Inside.

Her nails dig into the quilted lining of the headboard, scratching at the material as she tries to find something to anchor herself as Steve rolls his tongue over the sensitive folds of her sex beneath her, between the bend of her knees. She wants to keep herself from completely grinding down on his mouth completely, and the grip he has on her ass helps a little bit, but she can't quite keep herself from pushing down a little more and more as he drives her closer to another orgasm. Her thighs are shaking, burning with the effort to keep herself upright as her muscles dissolve into liquid under his touch. She'd almost protested when he tugged her up his body and settled her over his face, knowing exactly what he wanted to do despite the fact that she had barely been getting over her last orgasm, but _fuck_. He really loves doing this for her, loves to have her fall apart on his lips, and he's really, really good at it. She'd be an idiot to turn it down.

Then he flattens his tongue against her bundle of nerves and she sucks in a gasp, rolls her hips down and whimpers when he presses his tongue back inside her and curls. She bites down on her lower lip so hard that she swears that she draws blood, but she hardly cares. She can hardly feel a thing, not with the white hot pleasure rushing through her blood as his strokes become faster, harder, _deeper_.

" _Ah!"_ she cries out as she tumbles over that edge, her body shaking, head falling forward to press into the headboard as the last of her energy to keep herself upright is ripped right from her. Steve groans a little, the way he always does when she falls apart - like it's enough to make him fall apart, too - and her body jolts at the vibrations that sends against her sex. He keeps lapping at her through her high, gently now, but he quickly slips his tongue up and flicks at her clit, causing her to body to jerk as she whimpers and claws at the headboard again. She can practically feel him smirking, teasing right next to her bundle of nerves before slipping back down to her entrance, and she almost cries in relief. She honestly doesn't know if she can take another.

Steve seems to think she can, though.

He kisses the inside of her thigh softly, sweetly, and her heart thumps in her chest. Her mind is hazy, disoriented, but she registers the little gesture and she knows that means they're not quite done yet. She swallows, hard. She knows that he hasn't gotten off yet, that he still has one more in him, and she'd never want to leave him hanging. He'd never, ever do that to her, has probably spent _hours_ between her legs, making her fall apart over and over again before he gets one for himself, because that's how much he loves it - how much he loves _her_ \- and she feels the exact same way. Her body can handle _one more_ , she knows, and she really, really wants him to come with her this time. It would be almost heartbreaking to end the night in any other way.

He slips out from under her, the bed dipping as he moves to sit upright, but when she starts to turn so that she can face him, his hands are on her hips, keeping her in place. He tucks her hair over her shoulder, baring her neck to him so he can press a wet kiss to her throat. "Like this," he murmurs into her skin, pressing his palm flat against her ribs and smoothing it down her stomach. She _whimpers_ , warmth shooting between her legs despite the fact that her body is still tingling from her orgasm. It's almost ridiculous how much she wants him right now, how much she _still_ wants him.

"Steve," she breathes. She's not protesting, exactly, but she can't – she has _no_ energy left in her to keep herself upright. It's almost pathetic, actually.

He can tell what she's thinking, too, the way he always can, because he hums softly, soothingly. "I know, baby," he tells her, pressing a kiss to her neck again before pulling away a little. She feels him tug her back with him, away from the headboard, and then one of his hands is pressing against her back between her shoulder blades, and she lets him guide her down, bending her forward until her face is pressing into the pillows. She can't help but let out a moan in surprise, and arousal, pressing her hands into the mattress and spreading her knees a little more. They've only done it like this a handful of times, because he always loves being able to see her face, but that hardly means they don't still enjoy it.

His hard length brushes right against her folds, and she doesn't know why it surprises her when he starts pressing into her from behind, but she sucks in a soft gasp and presses her cheek into the pillow, fingers gripping at the sheets. It feels _so good_ like this, and she feels so much fuller, somehow, and the groan her lets out once he's fully inside drives her _crazy._

"Good, Nat?" he asks. His voice sounds wrecked already, and she knows that this probably isn't going to last long, which is a good thing, because she knows she won't last long, either. And it's a little ridiculous how her body seems all the more eager for this after that question, because he's still concerned about her and making sure she feels as comfortable as possible. It's so, so _sweet_ , and maybe it's stupid that that's what turning her on right now, but she hardly cares.

(She's never had anyone treat her the way that Steve does, that he always has. Obviously that's going to be what affects her most.)

"So good," she tells him, her voice coming out hot and heavy. She's already going crazy, and despite her hesitation just moments ago about not being able to take more, her body is twitching, desperate for him to move. " _God_ , Steve, I – you need to move, baby."

He grunts a little and does exactly that, pulls almost all the way out, her walls fluttering at the emptiness before pushing all the way in, and her lips part in a loud moan. So, _so good_. It feels _so good_ like this. He slides out and back in once, twice, three more times, groaning lowly and gripping her hips a little. She knows he wants to move faster, that he's waiting for her to give him a sign that she's ready for it, and, oh, _god_ , she's ready. She gnaws on her lower lip and whimpers, rolling her hips back to sink him into her completely when he's in the middle of pushing back in and he groans her name in surprise, nails digging absently into her hipbone. Her heart thrums in her chest, her lips tugging into a bit of a grin. She loves that, even when he's got her at the palm of his hand, she still has a few things up her sleeve.

He catches on, moving his hips a little faster and faster, a low growl ripping from the back of his throat. She's already seeing stars, pressing her face into the pillows as her nails claw at the sheets, and somehow she has enough energy in her to roll back against him to meet his thrusts, sinking him in even deeper. It only lasts for a few thrusts, though, and then her body is shaking, humming in pleasure as he pushes her towards another orgasm. She cries, knees nearly giving out, but he hooks his hands onto them and brings her sex completely flushed against his with the motion, causing them both to moan.

"Nat," he groans, snapping his hips. "Are you – _oh_ , fuck – are you close?"

She whimpers, nodding her head as she murmurs, "Yes, yes, _yes_." He _still_ wants her to come first, he's still thinking about her first, and that alone is almost enough to have her falling apart all over again. _Almost_ , but not quite. Not until she hears him let out this choked sound and thrust into her once, twice, three more times, before coming undone inside. She feels his warmth spilling into her, feels her walls flutter and tighten around him, and he gets a few more strokes through his high and that's more than enough to send her over the edge, too. She cries out his name, her orgasm flooding over her as she lets out this filthy moan and buries her face into the pillows. It makes it that much harder to gasp for breath like she needs to, but she can't quite help herself.

Neither of them move for a long moment as they come down from their highs, but then Steve pulls out of her with a grunt, making her whimper, and his hand is on her hips, gently lowering her on her side onto the bed. She's still trying to catch her breath, honestly, and she thinks she's about to fall asleep in just a few seconds, but she's awake long enough to feel the bed move as Steve leans over to switch off the light on the nightstand, then grab the rumpled duvet and tug it back over them. (He could probably fall asleep just fine without it, and he'll wake up in a sweat tomorrow morning because his body is always too hot, but he knows she gets cold at night sometimes.)

He fits himself behind her, tangling their legs as he presses his chest flat against her back, and he dips his head down, brushing a kiss to the back of her neck. She can practically feel those ridiculously long eyelashes of his fluttering against her skin when he nuzzles his face into her skin, and she hums, content.

"Steve?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"Hmm?"

She feels herself grin, shifting herself even closer. He tightens the arm he has draped over her. "You're absolutely ridiculous," she tells him.

He presses a kiss to her neck, and she can feel him grinning. "Love you, too."


	9. Steve/Natasha - #1, 18, 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1400  
>  **for:** [hooks-swans-and-fangirls](http://hooks-swans-and-fangirls.tumblr.com/) and [waitingisboring](http://waitingisboring.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** 1\. Good sex deserves to be loud. + 18. Only when I give you permission. + 25. His fingers sliding between your own.

He pulls his mouth off of her as she rolls her hips up, a little sound falling from her lips as her sex throbs and her walls flutter, aching, _empty_. She knew that he would pull away as soon as she tried to move herself closer, to bring his lips and his tongue closer to where she needed him, but she couldn't quite help herself. When they started this, she'd had far more self control, and it's not as if she'd ever underestimate him, but – she certainly hadn't been expecting him to drag it out for this long. It feels like it's been _hours_ of teasing, of relentless little licks and probing and feathery kisses to the inside of her thighs, and she feels as if her lungs are burning for air in her effort to hold herself off. She feels completely unraveled, her every muscle dissolved into nothing under Steve's touch, and she's long stopped trying to muffle the desperate sounds coming from the back of her throat.

She's never, ever felt like this, never found herself at someone else's mercy. She's the Black Widow. Sex had been an area she'd been taught to master and utilize early on, and she's certainly perfected. She's good. She knows she is.

But so is Steve. He did learn from her, after all.

She grips at his hair, fingers twitching to pull his tongue and his lips back to her wet heat, but she resists, eyelashes fluttering open to peer down and find him gazing up at her with a bit of a smirk, the little shit. She'd be more pissed off by how smug he looks if she wasn't so completely at the palm of his hand. "Not yet," he tells her, and then he flattens his tongue against her and licks all the way up, stopping just short of her clit before flicking at it with the tip of his tongue, and her back arches off of the bed, her hands yanking at his hair. He just lets out a soft chuckle, giving a soothing kiss to the inside of her thigh. "How close are you?"

"So close," she breathes, scraping her nails over his scalp. His breath is hot as it rolls over her slick folds, making her already sensitive flesh tingle even more. It's ridiculous. "Steve, I – you need to…" She trails off, swallowing through a dry throat. She's been trying to catch her breath for an hour, at least, but no such luck. Not with him being the little shit he is, working her right at that edge and then leaving her there as many times as he has. He nudges his nose against her thigh, pressing another kiss there, and then he darts his tongue out, giving a soft, barely there lick to her clit once, twice, her body jolting as she whimpers and shakes her head. She's going to come in a second if he does that again and, as much as she wants to - as much as she _needs_ to - she doesn't want it like this. Her walls flutter again and again, and she breathes his name.

"What, baby?" he asks, giving another lick to her sex. Her legs tremble. "Want me inside you?" She nods her head almost frantically, still pulling at his hair, not quite sure if she wants to yank him back to her sex and finally have him give her the relief she needs, or if she wants to yank him up so that he can finally be inside of her. Before she can make sense of it, though, he moves himself up her body, settling in between her legs as he braces himself on his elbow. His other hand takes one of hers, pressing it to the pillow by her head and sliding his fingers between hers, giving a gentle squeeze. He rolls his hips, rubs his hard length against her wetness, and they both moan at the sensation. "Is this what you want, Nat?" he asks, angling his hips so that he's pressing right at her entrance, her walls practically twitching in anticipation. She whimpers and nods. "You want to finally come?"

" _Yes_ , yes," she whispers, hips moving to meet his, but the hand that's holding hers tightens ever so slightly in a reminder and she lets out this little mewl as she wills herself to keep still. _Not until he says so_. "Please, _please_ , Steve!"

He leans down, capturing her lips in a soft, sweet kiss, and it eases her wound up body ever so slightly. She nips at his lower lip a little and feels him smile before pulling away, pressing his face into her neck and sucking at her pulse.

"I'll give you permission if you scream for me."

He pushes into her before she has a chance to make sense of what he's saying, let alone respond, and she lets out a loud cry as he's suddenly thick and hot and so, so deep inside of her. Her back arches off of the bed, her hand gripping onto his even tighter as her other digs into the muscles of his back. He groans, pulling out and pushing all the way in again, and again, and again, the pace slow but already almost too much for her oversensitive nerves. She gasps as he angles his hips, sinking in even deeper, even faster, and rolls his hips over and over again. A sharp yelp falls from her lips as he brushes her sweet spot once, twice, her mind spinning, and he tips his head up to capture her earlobe between his teeth, sucking at it gently. "Natasha, please," he says, his voice hot against her ear. "Let me hear you. Just let it all out, baby. Let go."

He snaps his hips and, _oh,_ how she _screams_. She tosses her head back, voice echoing in the air. "Ah, ah, _ah_ ," she cries out as he thrusts into her hard once, twice, three times, pressing right against her clit with each motion, and then he murmurs, "Come for me, Nat," as he snaps his hips again, sinking in even deeper, and that's all it takes for her to fall apart. She lets out a loud, almost keening sound, her body shaking as her orgasm washes over her.

He grunts, still rolling his hips through her orgasm, brushing over her sweet spot and rubbing right against her clit again and again, dragging out her high. She can practically feel him throbbing inside her, and she's exactly sure how he's still in control of anything right now, how he still hasn't come, but it makes her whimper. She wants him to fall apart, wants to feel it inside of her, and she claws at his back a little and rolls her hips up to meet his thrust, making them both gasp in surprise at the sensation. No matter how many times they do this, it always feels so perfect, like it's the very first time again. She brings her free hand up and grabs his hair, dragging his lips to hers again as she squeezes the hand that's still holding his, and he presses it into the pillow a little more, presses his tongue against hers and thrusts into her even faster, driving her right through her orgasm and quickly towards another.

" _Steve!_ " she cries, practically shrieks, and he groans loudly as he reaches his peak, falling apart inside of her as he kisses her even harder, even rougher. She twists her fingers in his hair, scraping over her scalp as she rolls her hips once, twice more, and then another orgasm is bursting over her, her body trembling at the white hot pleasure that washes over her muscles, turning her bones to liquid.

He pulls his lips from hers right as her lungs really start to burn for air, the both of them gasping as they start to come down from their highs. He presses his face into her cheek and kisses her there, squeezing their joined hands. The room is completely quiet now other than their hot, heavy breathes, considering just how loud they both were just moments ago. The thought would make her laugh if she had enough energy left in her to do so.

"Our neighbors are going to hate us," she murmurs, eyes falling closed.

She feels his chest rumble with a chuckle. "Especially if they think that we're done for tonight."

She _giggles_ , a warmth fluttering in her chest, and he lifts his head up and presses a light kiss to the bridge of her nose.


	10. Steve/Natasha - #41, 45, 46, 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1100  
>  **for:** [chrisbeckbarnes](http://chrisbeckbarnes.tumblr.com/), [lanaparrillaismyidol](http://lanaparrillaismyidol.tumblr.com/), [liliyxxx](http://liliyxxx.tumblr.com/), and [mrkhaleesi](http://mrkhaleesi.tumblr.com/)   
> **prompt:** 41\. His rough beard on shaved skin. + 45. Neck kisses will drive me crazy. + 46. Hands slowly explore all her curves. + 50. Feeling his body in the dark.

She runs her fingertips up his body, dipping slowly over the curve of his hips and up along his chest, relishing in the way his body reacts to her touch: his breath hitching ever so slightly, his muscles trembling, his lips pressing a little harder against hers. They'd never managed to turn the lights on after they stumbled into their bedroom, and she's not exactly sure how they'd gone from practically fumbling to tear each other out of their clothes to _this_ – soft, slow touches and lingering kisses and heavy breaths rolling across skin, fingertips tracing over every dip and curve of their bodies as if trying to make up for the fact that they couldn't quite see each other properly right now. Not that she could _ever_ forget how perfect he looks, and with the lights off like this, she can _feel_ everything so much more. It's a little different, but she loves it, too.

He smooths one of his hands up her side, fingertips brushing over the spot on her ribs that always drives her crazy, making her suck in a breath. Then that hand cups her breast, and his other slides down her other side, dancing over her hip and down her thigh until he hooks his fingers under the bend of her knee, spreading her a little wider and pressing their bodies flushed together. She sucks in another gasp and digs her nails into the muscle of his arms to pull him close, as close as physically possible. He slides his lips from hers, skims them down her jaw and nips just barely at the skin of her throat. She moans.

"So beautiful," he murmurs against the column of her neck, pressing a wet kiss there. She makes this little noise and arches her back, curving her body even more against his. She can feel his length brush against her slick folds with each little movement and it's making her body tingle all over again. He kisses her neck once, twice, three more times, and she breathes his name and holds onto him even tighter, her heart skipping in her chest. "How'd I get so lucky?"

"Should be me asking that," she says, voice soft. He shakes his head, dips it lower to brush his lips down the curve of her collarbone, spreading her legs a little wider. She lets out a sharp, hot breath, the anticipation coiling tighter in her stomach as he moves lower, _slower_ , down her body, kissing every inch of skin as he goes. She grips onto his shoulders until he's settled between her legs, and then she moves her hands to grip the sheets, peering down at him to find that stupid ( _perfect_ ) smile on his face as he meets her eyes. He dips his head, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of her thigh, and she gnaws her lower lip at the sensation of his beard brushing against her skin. He hasn't bothered to shave ever since they'd been sent away for some much needed time off, a luxury they weren't quite sure had _existed_ until they'd found themselves in a beach house with not a care in the world but each other.

It's perfect.

He rolls his tongue, passing it gently through her folds, slowly, stopping just short of her bundle of nerves and making her whole body curve off of the bed as her fingers tug on the sheet and her moan echoes through the room.

"Definitely should be me asking that."

His breath is warm between her legs as he chuckles, making her tingle, and then he takes another slow lick, this time flicking his tongue against her clit and drawing this sound from the back of her throat. Then he presses his tongue into her and she moans his name, rolls her hips up before she can quite stop herself, but he's prepared, of course. He knows her body like the back of his hand, knows _her_ like the back of his hand, and it's a thought that had once terrified her. Not anymore. Not with Steve, and definitely _not_ if it means that she gets to have this – gets to have him take his time, gets to have him know exactly what she needs to make her come apart at the seams so that he can take his time unraveling her until a shaking _mess_ , all because of him. There's not one part that she doesn't love about how well he knows her, even when he works her up and leaves her on edge, over and over and over again, for hours, practically, because he knows that she can take it. He knows that as much as it frustrates her sometimes, she always _loves_ it.

" _Steve_ ," she moans, voice loud, echoing in the dark as she rolls her hips a little faster against his tongue. Her eyelids flutter open and she tips her head down to peer at him through the dark, his face barely outlines by the moonlight that's coming in through the window. He looks so caught up in what he's doing, so caught up in _her_ like he could never get enough, like he could spend all night between her legs, and her heart thumps in her chest.

She watches as he slides his hand up her thigh, teasing her skin for a moment and making her whole body shudder. She feels him smirk, and then he brings his hand between her legs and presses two fingers into her slowly, closing his lips and sucking lightly over her bundle of nerves, and she swears that the soft grunt he makes almost sends her right over that edge. " _Oh_ ," she breathes. He curls his fingers, pulling out slowly and pressing in just so to make her hips snap up and her neck arch as she presses it harder into the pillow. " _Oh!"_

"Close?" he asks, even though he can tell. She knows he can.

She moans and nods, moves one of her hands to push her fingers into his hair and tug him even closer.

He rolls his tongue against her nerves once, twice, then licks all the way through her folds, curling his fingers, and her thighs trembling around his head as he lazily pushes her right on that edge. She's close – so, _so close_ – and then he pulls his mouth off of her, slides his fingers out and turns his head to kiss her wrist when she whimpers and grips his hair even tighter. Her eyelids flutter open to find him smiling again, pure adoration in his expression.

He moves himself back up her body, sliding his hands up her sides as he settles between her legs, length brushing against her slick, sensitive heat. Her body jolts, but he soothes her with a kiss.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, barely above a whisper.

"With my life."

He smiles against her lips, kissing her against as he angles his hips and starts pressing into her slowly, and her lips part in a moan as she digs her nails into his back, trying to pull him as close to her as possible as he fills her completely.

 _Absolutely perfect_.


	11. Steve/Natasha - #42, 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1200  
>  **for:** [avengerwhoviantributesassemble](http://avengerwhoviantributesassemble.tumblr.com/) and [fearlessbanshee](http://fearlessbanshee.tumblr.com/)  
>  **prompt:** 42\. Squeezing her hand under the table + 48. Wondering what your kiss feels like

"Want me to knock him around a little bit?" Sam asks, and Steve breathes out a chuckle and shakes his head, fingers twitching tighter around his beer as the guy that Natasha is flirting with tries to inch his hand down her hip and over her ass. It doesn't bother Steve.

Well, it does a little.

More than he wants it to, anyway, because it's not like this is _Natasha_ flirting with him. They're on an assignment, and she's acting under a cover right now, and she's doing a damn good job at being the distraction that she's supposed to be. Their target is so fixated on Natasha that he isn't so much as glancing anywhere else, especially not at where Wanda is posing as a bartender behind the counter. She slips the sedative into his drink so quickly that Steve doesn't actually see it, but she catches his gaze from across the room, lips twitching ever so slightly into a smile as she slides their target's drink over to him. Natasha bats her eyelashes as she pushes his drink into his hand and then clinks her glass against his, eyes sparkling as their target takes a gulp.

Natasha lingers just long enough for their target to get through half of his drink before Sharon shows up on cue, linking their arms together and leaning on her a little bit as she feigns a drunken slur that lets Natasha break away from their target. He definitely checks her out – checks them both out – as they walk away, which Steve might've been a little more peeved about if their guy hadn't downed the rest of his drink while doing so. If there was any concern about the sedative not kicking in fast enough, there isn't anymore.

"Got him in the palm of their hands," Sam muses.

Steve smirks. As if their guy stood any _real_ chance against those three.

A few minutes later, Natasha slides into the booth next to him, a coy smile on her lips as she sets her glass down on the table. Sam is already gone; he and Bucky got their target out through the back where Sharon and Wanda were waiting with the car. Steve had offered to be the one to stay behind a little longer, to make sure that no one at the club had been suspicious. Apparently Natasha had stayed, too.

"Needed a night away?" she asks, nodding at the ring on his left hand. She couldn't keep hers on for the op, of course, and he can't wait for them to get home so he can slip it back onto her finger. As much as he hates whenever she has to take it off for a cover, he'll never tire of getting to put it back on for her.

(That's her favorite part, too.)

"Something like that," he says, because he feels like playing along, and the sparkle in her eyes is absolutely worth it.

"Mind if I join you?" She pushes her glass away, angles herself towards him a little more, so that her knee brushes against the side of his leg.

"You sure your boyfriend won't mind?"

She hums, shakes her head as she drops a hand over his knee. He knows she'd normally work a little harder to seduce a target as to not draw suspicion. But, well. It's _Steve_. Obviously things are going to be a little different in this case. She blinks once, twice, looking up at him from under her eyelashes, and _god_. She's going to be the death of him one day. "He's not my boyfriend. Never even stood a chance," she tells him, squeezing his leg gently, and he sucks in a soft, sharp breath. Her lips twitch. "He couldn't even hold down one drink."

Steve _almost_ laughs. "And that's important for you?"

She shrugs a shoulder, dancing her fingers a little higher, pressing just a little bit harder. He swallows and shifts in his seat. "It helps," she says. "How is he going to get his girl home safely if she's too drunk to take care of herself?"

He breathes out a shaky laugh as her fingers press and _press_ , higher and higher. "You seem like the type that can handle it herself."

She _smiles_. He doesn't know when she ended up so close to him, almost straddling the side of his hip, but, well. He's been a little bit distracted.

"What about you?" she asks, tilting her head close, _closer_ , her breath warm as it ghosts across his neck. The club had already started feeling stuffy to him an hour into their op, but the heat is almost smothering. _Her_ heat is washing over him, making his skin tingle, clouding his senses, and he feels the desire low in his stomach coil tighter and tighter. He thinks he should almost be embarrassed by how quickly she's working him up, but they both know it's never taken much. Not with her. She's got him at the palm of her hand, too. "Can you handle me?"

She palms the front of his jeans once, twice, drapes her leg over his lap to press herself even closer, and he grasps onto her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. They shouldn't be doing this. Their op is technically over, and this time is theirs to do whatever they want with, but, they're still in cover, and they're in _public_ , and… She raises her eyebrows, flexes her fingers, and he almost forgets to _breathe_. Her lips are close to his, hovering just out of his reach, and he wants to kiss her.

 _God_ , he wants to kiss her. Over and over again, until all she can feel is him.

He might tell her this, too, if he ever gets a chance to catch his breath.

"Guess that answers that," she teases.

And that seems to be all it takes, because then he's hooking an arm around her and practically hauling her into his lap, hands sliding over her hips, pulling her close, and he groans as the motion causes her to grind down on him. He presses his palm flat over the small of her back, and she breathes out a laugh as she tips her head, snatching his earlobe between her teeth as she digs her nails into chest. He grips her tight, maybe too tight, but she doesn't seem to care at all.

She skims her lips down, pressing a wet kiss to the underside of his jaw.

He moans softly. She still hasn't kissed him yet, and it's driving him _crazy._ She smirks against his skin like she knows it, too.

" _Tease_ ," he breathes out against her ear.

She _laughs_ , lifts her head just enough to meet his gaze as she slides a hand down his arm, settling it over his where it's resting at her hip. "Want to get out of here?" she asks, and he knows the brush of her thumb over his ring is deliberate.

He grins and captures her lips with his, kissing her, _hard_ , drawing a whimper from her that goes straight down his spine. He licks at the seam of her lips until she parts them, presses his tongue against hers, groaning into her mouth as she rolls her hips down on his again. And then he pulls away, something akin to pride tugging at his chest at the little sound she makes, at the way she moves as if to keep kissing him. But he grasps onto her hand with his, brushing his thumb over her finger, right where her ring will be again, and she gives him a bright smile.

"Let's go home."


	12. Steve/Natasha - #14, 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1600  
>  **for:** [romannoff](http://romannoff.tumblr.com/), [bloodredmoon87](http://bloodredmoon87.tumblr.com/), and [lanaparrillaismyidol](http://lanaparrillaismyidol.tumblr.com/)  
>  **prompt:** 14\. Morning wood sliding against your ass + 39. Licking your fingers clean of her
> 
> A/N: Also fills two prompts from "the way you said, 'I love you'" meme: 16. Over and over again, till it's nothing but a senseless babble + 27. A taunt, with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips (for [marvelousdorito](http://marvelousdorito.tumblr.com/), [bloodredmoon87](http://bloodredmoon87.tumblr.com/), and [elldorable](http://elldorable.tumblr.com/))

She feels it before she's even started to shake off her sleep. She feels _him_ , his touch teasing (always, always _teasing_ , because he's an asshole).

His fingertips drag gently over her side, down the curve of her hip, ghosting over the spot on her ribs that he always loves to touch when he's driving her closer and closer to her high. That little spot drives her _crazy_ for some reason, and she didn't even realize it existed until Steve figured it out, the way he always seems to figure her out. Her body shivers ever so slightly under his fingertips, his touch lingering over this spot, pressing and tingling and making the warmth swirl lower and lower in her stomach. It would be embarrassing how easily he can turn her on, especially first thing in the morning, but she can feel just how hard he is as he's pressing against her ass. She knows it's natural for a guy, but she can't quite help but feel a little smug because of it. Just the touch of her, just the _thought_ of her, can turn _Captain freaking America_ into a mess of murmured curses and rough tugs and gentle nips and hard, burning desire.

She tries to fight it, because she's stubborn and so is he and it's a game they like to play sometimes, pretending they're not as completely at each other's mercy as they are and maybe always have been. She wills herself to stay still as he adds just a little more pressure to his touch, pretends that she's asleep even though he can tell that she's not. He's almost as good of a spy as he is a soldier, after all, and that's because he learned from the best.

( _Her_ , obviously.)

He teases a little lower and a little lower, fingertips dancing along her hipbone and down her pelvis, lingering just long enough to almost draw a gasp before sliding back up the flat of her stomach and brushing over her ribs again. He does this once, twice, and she feels herself getting wetter and wetter. It takes all she has not to squirm. He shifts himself closer, nuzzles his face into her curls as he presses a kiss to the back of her neck, and then he dips his hand down and slides his fingers between her legs, between her slick heat, and she lets out this throaty little sound and arches her spine, body jolting at his touch.

He smirks against her skin. "I win," he murmurs, kissing her there again.

" _Ass_ ," she breathes, but his fingers are parting her and pressing a little harder and it feels _so damn good._ "I was still sleeping."

"Sure," he indulges. To anyone else, he would sound perfectly convincing. But she hears the tone of sarcasm to his voice, the lilt of pride at having bested her – especially after just how long she'd teased him the night before, tasting and teasing and _torturing_ until he was a shaking, begging mess. _God_ , just the though of him sprawled out like that makes her desire coil even tighter. She can still hear the way his whimpers echoed around the room, almost chanting her name until she pushed him right to that edge and drove him to it again and again and again. It isn't the first time she'd been thankful for the endurance that the super serum gave him, because shit. He'd been _wrecked_.

And she knows he's all too eager to return the favor.

She rolls her hips against his hand, inching him closer to where she needs him to be, but he follows her rhythm and glides his fingers over her wet folds over and over again. She grips at the sheet, her breaths stuttering for a moment as her heart skips in her chest. Then she _squeals_ when he moves suddenly, the bed jostling as he rolls her onto her back and slides himself down the mattress until he's peering up at her from between her legs. It takes a moment for her vision to blur back into focus after flinching against the morning sunlight that filters through the curtains, but then she finds herself staring down at him and his long eyelashes as he presses two fingers into her and rolls his tongue over her sex.

She _moans_ , body curving, hips pressing into his face, but of course he anticipates the motion and uses it to sink his fingers even deeper, his free hand shooting out to press against the inside of her thigh and keep her open when she almost snaps her legs shut around him. He usually take his sweet time with this part, but he isn't right now and her breath quivers. No sooner than she's figured out the rhythm of his fingers is he curling and going faster, driving her quickly – almost _too quickly_ – to that peak. Her nails scratch at the sheets, her hands not quite knowing how to grab at it right now, and then he closes his lips around her bundle of nerves and she cries out his name and almost _yanks_ at the linen so hard she swears she hears it rip. _Oh, oh god_.

He sucks once, twice, three more times, pressing his tongue flat against her clit as he curls his fingers, and then she's falling apart at the seams.

He works her through it, too, his fingers still working in and out and his tongue rolling over and over again, and her body _shakes_. She whimpers his name and shakes her head, because it's too much, _too much_ , but also oh so good, and she's not sure if she wants him to stop or to keep going, because she can feel a second orgasm lingering on the heels of her first. He quickens his fingers, teases her with his tongue, and she murmurs, " _Can't!_ Steve, you…" and then cuts herself off with a cry at a particularly good thrust.

"Yes you can," he says, pausing just long enough to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh. She blinks her eyes open to look at him, and he has a very _Steve_ kind of curve to his smirk as he holds her gaze. "You said I needed to be a little more selfish," he reminds, then licks a long, slow stripe up her center, making her body shudder. "There's nothing I love more than seeing you fall apart, so let me see it." He quirks an eyebrow at her. "Because I love you."

She breathes out a laugh. "You really ought to stop playing that card."

"Why? It works every time." He gives her a stupid, sexy little grin, the one that she either wants to punch or kiss off of his face. She doesn't really get a chance to decide this time, though, because he rolls his tongue over her again and starts moving his fingers, working quickly back to the pace he'd reached just seconds ago, and every muscle in her body feels like it's _on fire_. She gasps for breath as she tugs and tugs at the sheet. It's overwhelming, almost painfully so, but it feels _amazing_ and she wants it as much as he does because _god_ , she does love him. So, so much. More than she ever thought she could love someone, and if this is all he wants to do, she'll let him wreck her the same way he lets her wreck him. It's only fair.

Just like it's only fair that she hears the words from her, too.

"I love you," she breathes, and he groans and sucks over her clit, making her body twitch and tremble. She murmurs it over and over again – _I love you, I love you, god, I love you so much_ – until her words blur together and all she can manage are these tremors of moans and whimpers. Then he gives this little kiss to her bundle of nerves and _of course_ that would be the thing that sends her crashing all over again, her spine arching off of the mattress as she lets out a keening cry. She feels him lift his head from between her legs and she knows that he's watching, his breath warm as it rolls over her skin, lips parted in awe.

It takes a long moment for her to settle down enough where her world isn't just one white, hot blur of pleasure, and she's so sensitive that him just pulling his fingers out of her makes her whimper and clutch at the sheet. He shushes her softly, soothingly, carefully moving himself between her legs so that his body is laying above hers, propped up on one elbow. She blinks her eyes up at him to watch as he brings his hand up. It's slick with her, and she just _stares_ with her lips parted and her heart fluttering as he presses his fingers passed his lips.

_Holy fuck._

He holds her gaze, lips twitching at the edges – twitching into a _smirk_ , the goddamn asshole – and that seems to snap her out of her post-orgasm haze. She doesn't know how she can still be turned on after coming _twice_ , one right after the other, and honestly, her bones still feel like liquid. But she musters enough energy to lunge at him, drawing a grunt of surprise as knocks him in the chest and rolls him onto his back, straddling his hips. His eyes are bright and twinkling in arousal (and adoration, as clear as day) as she braces her hands flat against his chest and tips her head down ever so slightly, her curls falling over her shoulder with the motion.

"I win," she declares.

He hums softly, slides his hands over her hips and lets his eyes trace lazily down her body, over every dip and curve. It's stupid that this is enough to make her want to shiver all over again, but she can't quite help it.

"No," he says, grinning up at her like the dork he is. "I'm pretty sure I still won."

"You're ridiculous," she says, and he breathes out a laugh as she curls herself closer and presses their lips together.


	13. Steve/Natasha - #11, 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~800  
>  **for:** bloodredmoon87, sleepygrimm, evanzski, and an anon  
>  **prompt:** 11\. I know you can go deeper. + 33. Eyes up now, Sweetheart. Good girl.

She doesn’t know how they always end up like this.

Well, no. She knows exactly how worked up Steve gets after a particularly successful mission. She’d tease him about being a cliche, but when he turns that look on her – jaw set, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, eyes dark and hazy and steely with determination – her breath always gets caught in her throat, heat bursting over skin in a quick flurry. It’s ridiculous how quickly she gets turned on by this man, especially when he stalks over to her slowly like he’d done when he came home today: daunting and predatory, emanating hunger, promising to _devour_ her.

Fuck, she loves that look.

He’d shoved the laundry off of where she had been folding and sorting them on the coffee table, hoisted her on top of it without so much as a, “hey,” and then covered her mouth with his before she could make a sound. There’s a smudge of dirt still smeared under the line of his jaw, a scrape over his temple that he hadn’t bothered to clean out, and he’d all but ripped her out of her yoga pants in pure impatience before pressing her back flat against the coffee table and licking right over her center.

She falls apart like this, back arched, her head tipped over the edge of the table as she lets out a moan, then whimpers when her thighs reflexively try to close around his head as he drives her to a second orgasm on the heels of the first. She feels weightless and senseless as he wedges himself out from between her legs, listening to the rustle of clothes as he shrugs out of his jacket, the click of his belt buckle being undone before he shoves his jeans down his legs.

“Eyes up now, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and gravelly and commanding. She lets out this little breath, tries to shake her head. She feels _boneless_.

He grasps her chin with his fingers, tips her head forward. She blinks, vision slowly blurring back into focus to find him staring down at her, lips tugged into a smirk and glistening with her arousal. Her stomach flips, her heart fluttering.

“Good girl.”

“Fuck you,” she says with a breathy laugh. “Come _here._ ”

He chuckles, braces himself over her and ducks his head down to nip at her pulse. “I’ll be honest,” he says into her skin, grunting when she wraps her hand around his length and lines him up at her entrance, “the fact that this coffee table looked sturdy enough to handle us was the only reason I voted on it.”

“No piece of furniture can handle us,” she reminds, voice tapering off into a moan when he rolls his hips, sinking into her slowly, deliberately. She’s still totally sensitive, and he’s hard and long and rubbing in all the right places, and she can already feel her walls quivering around him. He snatches her lips in a kiss, groaning into her mouth when he presses all the way in.

His thrusts are slow, almost tentative at first, but she can feel how tense he is just below the surface, muscles coiled tight, practically vibrating with his urge to go faster, harder. He gets like this sometimes; like he knows he’s too worked up to control himself, one prod away from bursting, and _fuck_ , does the love that moment when he finally snaps.

She digs her nails into the muscles of his back through the thin material of his shirt that he still has on, rolls her hips up against his and causing a groan to rip from the back of his throat. His eyes snap onto hers, forehead creased in restraint.

“That all you got, soldier?” she challenges. “I know you can go deeper.”

His eyes narrow, jaw flexing as he clenches his teeth, and he hooks an arm under the bend of her knee and pushes it up, opening her up and snapping his hips, making her body arch off as she sucks in a gasp. He rolls his hips faster and sinks in so deep that it’s almost dizzying, and she doesn’t realize that her eyes are fluttering closed and her head is tipping back until he shoves a hand into her hair and guides her head back up. She blinks her eyes open, and beneath them, she hears the faint creaking of the coffee table.

“Look at me, love,” he says, angling his hips and brushing that sweet spot that makes a fresh burst of heat fan out over her skin. He mutters a curse. “Keep those eyes on me and I’ll make you come again.” He pushes her leg higher and sinks in deeper and she cries out, her vision starting to blur. “I fucking love your eyes, sweetheart. Keep looking at me like that and we’ll break this table.”

 _God_ , she hopes so.


	14. Bucky/Wanda - #14, 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **for:** steph21108 and sleepygrimm  
>  **prompt:** 14\. Teach me. Train me. Own me. + 43. Nights are so lonely without you.

“I miss you.”

He groans out a laugh over the line, and the sound is enough to make her chest tighten. It’s incredibly silly to miss him when he’s only been gone for two days, but she can’t quite help it. Her ( _their_ ) bed already feels a little too empty without him, his side a little too cold when she runs her hand over the spot he usually takes up. She doesn’t know where this is coming from. They’ve been apart dozens and dozens of times before, not of their choosing, necessarily, but they’ve dealt with it. And she was _fine_. She’d miss him, but not quite like this. Not quite like every part of her somehow aches, her body craving his touch.

“You’re killing me, doll.” To his credit, James sounds amused rather than patronizing. “I’ll only be gone one more night.”

“I know.” She closes her eyes, lets out a breath. “I just feel–”

“Lonely?”

“ _Yes_.” She feels herself smile. He chuckles, voice low and deep and sending tingles down her spine.

It’s the same tone he gets after he’s kissed her breathless, or when he’s deep inside her and trembling and grasping onto any ounce of control he can muster to keep things slow and sweet and tender. And she loves that, she does. She loves how much he worries about her, how he treats her like she’s something precious, something innocent. He wants to protect her, not because he thinks she’s incapable of it herself, but because he _needs_ to.

She gnaws on her lower lip, presses her legs together. She hasn’t had his touch in _two days_ , and every time she thinks about him, she grows a little more desperate. She’d like to think that their relationship is so much more than just something physical – and it _is_ , it definitely is – but. That doesn’t mean she can’t crave his touch as much as she craves his presence.

She knows she’s breathing harder, too, because James asks, “Doll?” over the line, in a tone that sounds incredibly _knowing_.

She spreads her hand flat over her stomach, takes a breath. “Yes?”

“Maybe you’re feeling something else, too?”

Despite herself, she laughs. “Maybe.”

“Want a little help with that?”

She feels her cheeks flush in embarrassment, even though she knows there’s no reason to. “I… I _can’t_.” God, she sounds pathetic. “I’ve tried before.”

James chuckles, sweet and indulgent, dissolving what little anxiousness had started to tighten in her chest. “Not with me talking you through it,” he says, and her heart skips a beat, her hand sliding lower. “I’ll teach you.”

“ _James_.”

“Come on, doll,” he tells her, voice soft and patient and firm. “Open your legs for me.” She very nearly whimpers, shifting to spread her legs out. She’d worn nothing a pair of panties and one of his shirts to bed, and it makes her breath hitch when he says, “ _Fuck_ , doll. I bet you look so good in my shirt right now. Don’t you?” She makes a little noise from the back of her throat, brushing her fingertips over her center through the thing material of her panties. “Don’t go in yet. Tease yourself, just like I would. It’ll feel so much better, I promise.”

“It’s good because it’s you.” Her voice comes out surprisingly even considering every part of her is already starting to buzz.

She circles her fingers slowly and deliberately, with a barely-there pressure that James always uses. It’s not entirely the same with her own hand; her fingers are too small and too delicate, and the angle is all wrong, but with James’s voice in her ear, she feels her pulse starting to thrum, her folds starting to ache. She shifts her hips up, fingers itching to something more, _anything_ more, but she manages to control herself. She bends one knee, spreads herself wider and presses her harder into her pillow. She can imagine James braced above her with his eyes trained on her face, drinking in her every little gasp and shiver and whimper.

“Already, doll?” His voice makes her flinch in surprise. He knows all over her sounds, all of her tells. He knows how close she’s getting. “Wanda.”

“ _Yes_ ,” she mewls. “James, _please_.”

“Go ahead. Brush your clit, just barely, just once.” His voice is gruff, and she thinks maybe he’s a little distracted himself. She imagines him in the room of his motel, eyelids heavy, expression almost dazed as he strokes his length and imagines it’s _her_ hand just as she’s imagining his right now. That’s exactly the picture she sees when her fingertip brushes her little bundle of nerves, and she whimpers his name. She brushes it again and her entire body shudders. “Just once, doll,” he reminds, his tone knowing – of course he _knows_ – and she manages to slide her fingertips away, circling it in the same teasing pace he always uses. She murmurs his name. “One finger. Slowly, babe. Go ahead.”

She does exactly that, sex pulsing, _aching_. James groans low and long on his end of the line and her breath hitches, imagining his forehead creased, eyes hazy, body drawn tight. “ _Another_ ,” he commands, and she does, her other hand curling so tightly around her phone that she’s half-convinced that it’s going to crack under the pressure. “Curl your fingers, doll. Move with me. You know you want it deeper. You know you want _more_.”

Her pleasure coils, swirling and tightening low in her stomach, _lower_ , and she lets out a breathy, broken, “ _ah_ , James,” as her body arches off of the bed.

She doesn’t know how long she lasts – two minutes, two _seconds_ – but she feels her throat closing up, her entire body trembling. And then James says, “Get yourself there, darling, fall apart for me,” with a tight, rough voice, her desperation reflected in his tone. She drops the phone and slips her other hand between her legs, circles her clit as she strokes and curls her fingers.

When she falls apart, her hips jump off of the bed, James’s name falling from her lips in a keening moan. She works herself through it as best as she can because she knows that’s what James would do. He’d drag it out, then drag her right through another orgasm if he knew she could handle it.

When she comes back down from her high, she fumbles for her phone, hears heavy breaths coming from the other line.

“Good?” James asks.

“Good,” she echoes, even though she thinks that hardly covers it. “Is it my turn to talk?”

He chuckles, sounding strained. “If you want to.”

“I do.” She gnaws on her lower lip. “I’ve never done it before, though.”

“Doll, it’ll be good because it’s _you_ ,” he tells her, and she can’t quite help the giggle that slips through her lips.


	15. Steve/Natasha - #10, 37, 42, 49, 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~2,200  
>  **for:** sleepygrimm, petronellarose, and an anon  
>  **prompt:** 10\. Fuck me. Then fuck me again. + 37. Teeth nibbling, biting, plying, twisting, pinching. + 42. Loud enough that the neighbors hear. + 49. Look at me while you come. + 50. Hands pinned high above your head.
> 
> Once upon a time, I had an idea for a fic where Steve and Natasha became friends-with-benefits after New York. I dropped it when I realized a version of it had already been done, but, this is me dabbling back into this unfinished idea because I kind of love it.

She’s not sure what she expected from him, but it certainly wasn’t this. It wasn’t drunken stumbles into their motel room in some border town with a name she can’t quite pronounce. It wasn’t his fingers fumbling for the light and knocking the lamp onto the ground, her foot getting caught on the leg of the table, the thrum of too many shots of tequila pulsing through her veins. She’s not drunk – not really, anyway – but her senses are blurring together, and all she can focus on is his teeth nipping at her skin and his groans vibrating in his chest as she smooths her palms over the contours of his abs and his ridiculous body heat smothering her as he pins her to the bedroom door.  
  
He tugs her shirt over her head and tosses it aside, eyes hazing over as he glances down at her lacy black bra. His lips part, eyebrows raising.  
  
“You wore this on our mission?”  
  
She shrugs a shoulder. “I like to come prepared.” His lips part ever so slightly. A wry grin tugs at her lips. “Never know when you need to distract a target.”  
  
His eyes flash, which shouldn’t send a warm tingle down her spine, but it does and she tries not to think about it. She’s trying not to think at all. Not about how much she wants to be kissing him again. Not about how wrong this is. She’s his supervising officer, yes, but she’s also his friend, and maybe the only one he’s made since everything that happened in New York. Nick asked her to keep an eye on him, to help him acclimate. She shouldn’t be making it his world even more complicated than it already is.  
  
“Target?” He arches an eyebrow, steps close, crowding her space, making her tip her head back to hold his gaze. “Is that what I was tonight?” He grasps her hips with more force than she’d expected and she sucks in a breath. “Did you touch me like I was your mission? Plot this like I was some kind of objective?”  
  
She shakes her head in a quick jerk. She’s good at being calm, composed. She thrives off of it.  
  
But right now, she feels a little bit like she’s unraveling at the seams. She tells herself that it’s the alcohol, but she knows that it’s really not.  
  
He brings a hand up to cup her cheek, brushes his thumb over her lower lip. “No tricks with me, Natasha.” He leans in and latches on her pulse, sweeps her hair over her shoulder and places a trail of hot, wet kisses up her throat. Her lips part, a moan on the tip of her tongue as she clutches at the muscles of his biceps. “No games, no masks.” Snatching her wrists, he slides them up the door and holds them high over her head, making her muscles stretch, making her body rise up on the tips of her toes. He dips his head lower and closes his lips around one of her nipples through the lace and she very nearly whimpers. “Tell me what you want.” His grip tightens on her wrists ever so slightly, and the brief sting cuts through the haze of her arousal, of the alcohol, reminding her that this is real. That this is happening. “Exactly what you want.”  
  
“Fuck me.” Her voice is soft and harsh all at once, somehow. He sucks down on her nipple and she makes this noise from the back of her throat.  
  
“Just once?”  
  
She tries to glare at him, but he’s moving to her other nipple, taking it between his lips, just barely grazing his teeth against her skin. Her back arches off of the door. She wants him to keep going, but she also wants to kiss him.  
  
“Fuck me,” she hisses, and he pulls his mouth off of her, glances up from under his eyelashes. “Then fuck me again.” His lips twitch. “And again, and again.”  
  
She feels a burst of heat unfurl in her stomach, rising to her cheeks. She’s not embarrassed, exactly, but she feels a little like she could be. Her heart is almost tripping over itself, her blood pulsing and her breaths coming out shallow and uneven, and she doesn’t think she’s ever felt this unsettled before. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt this vulnerable. She thinks this is the part where she pries herself free, where she tries to regain control, but. That’s not what she wants.  
  
She wants him.  
  
“Fuck me so hard I see stars,” she says, and he stretches his body to stand tall. “Fuck me loud enough that the neighbors hear.”  
  
He holds her gaze, long and steady and almost unreadable, except, she can see the flicker of emotion just underneath the deep, dark blue. She watches his every thought flit across his face – is that really what you want? is this really okay? is this how you’re giving yourself to me? Yes, yes yes. She wants to tell him this, chant it over and over, but she can’t quite find her voice.  
  
But he must see it in her eyes, because then he’s nodding, his fingers loosening around her wrists but not exactly letting go.  
  
“If we do this, I don’t want you to touch me or yourself.” He gives her a wry, crooked grin, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “You got touch all night.” He kisses her other cheek. “Got to tease me.” The bridge of her nose. “To mark me all over.” Finally, he lips, soft and slow and sweet, with a gentleness that’s a little dizzying considering he’s promising to ruin her. “Now it’s my turn. Understood?”  
  
“Yes,” she breathes.  
  
He kisses her again, longer, deeper, releasing her wrists, and instinctively she starts to reach for him. But he pulls away, arches an eyebrow, and she lets out a shaky breath and presses her palms flat against the door at her sides. His lips twitch in a grin and he reaches between them, popping open the front of her jeans. He skims his lips lower, down the column of her throat, between the dip of her breasts, over the flat of her stomach.  
  
She lets her eyes fall closed, the back of her head hitting the door as he pushes her jeans down and helps her step out of them. She feels the tickle of his hair against her thigh, the kiss of his lips next to the bed of her knee. His breath is hot and harsh as is ghosts over her skin. She can feel him hovering right where she wants him most, and she’s already wet, ridiculously so. He nudges her ankles further apart, murmurs something that sounds a little like her name–  
  
“Ah,” she whimpers as his lips close over her through the lace of her panties. The door rocks with the jerk of her hips, and one of his hands comes up to brace her hips, keeping her in place as he licks over her folds, again and again and again, flicking the tip of his tongue close to her little bundle of nerves. She can feel him through her panties, of course, but it’s not enough, not even a little. He digs his fingers into her hips hard enough to bruise, she’s sure, and she’s certain that’s entirely the point, and she doesn’t mind at all.  
  
He groans and it sounds rough and wild and uninhibited. It sounds like he feels just as pleasured as she does. It sounds like he’s selfish for her and he’s taking and taking and taking, and god, that’s what she wants him to do. To know what he wants and go for it. To live for himself and only himself, if only for a little.  
  
When she comes, it crashed over her and closes over her lungs, making her gasp for air, her entire body rocking. Her hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around the edge of the door, needing something to ground her when he keeps going. He yanks her panties down, maybe possibly rips them off, hooks her leg over his shoulder and licks up her folds. The rough slide of his tongue without any kind of barrier makes her moan, makes her entire body ignite, drags out her high. The window isn’t open, but she’s sure their neighbors can hear them. Fuck, she’s sure the whole damn motel can.  
  
He lets out a low groan, makes this desperate sound as he flattens his tongue over her clit and slides two fingers into her, and the door shudders violently into the wall behind it when her body arches. He moves with her hips, flicks and circles and presses over her clit, fingers curling over her sweet spot, and, and–  
  
Another burst of light and warmth and something incredibly, frighteningly tender crashes over her. Her muscles strain in her attempt to keep from grinding on his mouth, to keep from touching him, but she really, really wants to do both.  
  
He kisses the inside of her thigh as she slowly, slowly drifts back down, reaches around her back and unclasps her bra, sliding it off. He carries her for the short distance from the door to the bed, which should be ridiculous, except she’s not entirely sure her own legs could hold her up right now, let alone help her move.  
  
He lays her gently in the middle, brushing his lips to hers, and, despite his own rules, he doesn’t protest when she grasps his face and kisses him again, and again, a little deeper and a little dirtier. Her mind is buzzing, her body humming. She barely registers the rustle of clothes, the way he shifts above her to push his pants off, his boxers, and then he grasps one of her hands and brings it between them, wrapping her fingers around his length.  
  
Fuck, he’s hard.  
  
She blinks her eyes up to meet his.  
  
“Still with me?” he asks. She thinks he’s only half teasing.  
  
She swallows, exhales a shaky breath. “Still with you.”  
  
He nods, brushes his lips against her again. She lets out this little whimper and guides him to her entrance, and then he’s pushing into her, kissing her harder, harder, and her legs fall open and her heart hammers in her chest. She’s still so sensitive that the slow press of him against her walls is enough to make her cry out his name, and he groans, low and long, his forehead falling against her collarbone when he’s pressed all the way in. She feels full, so full, and there’s a flutter of delight in her stomach at the way his breaths are harsh and staggered against her skin, like he’s struggling to keep himself composed. Like he’s just as overwhelmed as she is.  
  
Then he starts to move, strokes slow, she’s certain for her sake, but despite having just came twice already, she needs more. She needs him.  
  
“Nat. Nat. Fuck.” Her heart skips at the sound of him cursing. “Fuck, Nat.”  
  
“Steve,” she whimpers, rolling her hips, urging him to go faster, and he does.  
  
“It feels–” He groans, angles his hips and snaps, brushing against a spot that makes her see stars, makes her squeal. “It feels so–”  
  
He cuts himself to suck in a breath, his body quickening, pressing closer, deeper. But she knows exactly what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling.  
  
It feels so exhilarating. It feels so overwhelming. It feels so perfect.  
  
“Wanted this,” he murmurs, pressing her knee against the mattress, closer to her body, opening her up to him so he can sink in deeper, deeper, and she presses her head back into the mattress in a moan. “Wanted this for a while.” He grasps one of her ankles and hooks it around his hips. She’s quickly slipping back into the white-hot abyss, nails digging into the muscles of his back, through the thin material of the shirt that he apparently still has on. She knows her marks won’t be there for long, but for one fleeting second she wants them to stay. She wants him to remember.  
  
“Not sure I can last long, Nat,” he tells her, which wouldn’t have mattered to her anyway, except that she’s unraveling just as quickly as he is.  
  
She manages a whimper, a nod in response.  
  
“Look at me while you come,” he tells her. His thrusts are fast and hard and driving her closer and closer to the edge. She arches off of the bed, rolls her head and presses her cheek into the mattress, but his hand fumbles for her, fingers grasping her chin and turning her back to him. “Open your eyes and look at me when you come, Natasha,” he commands, and her eyes flutter open to lock with his. A burst of emotion washes over his face – relief, hunger, even a little pride – before dissolving into something far more affectionate than she’s ever seen.  
  
And she falls apart staring into his eyes, vision blurring at the edges, so that he’s the only thing she can focus on.  
  
She feels him moving through her orgasm, hips jerking, losing his rhythm as his entire body tightens and tightens and tightens, and then her eyelashes flutter and he’s falling apart above her, inside her, all around her. She winds her arms around his neck just as his head falls forward, forehead pressing into her neck as he falls after her off that dizzying, blissful edge.  
  
His weight is solid as his body sags against her, every inch of his skin touching every inch of hers, and she doesn’t feel trapped, not at all.  
  
She slides her fingers into his hair, gently scratches at his scalp as they both try to catch their breaths.  
  
“Still with me?” she asks in a whisper. It’s quiet, but a comfortable kind of quiet.  
  
“Still with you,” he answers, his heartbeat thrumming against hers, and right now, in this moment, everything feels perfect.


	16. Steve/Natasha - #1, 2, 3, 25, 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,900  
>  **for:** gomustanggirl16, imstandinghere, sleepygrimm, and bloodredmoon87  
>  **prompt:** 1\. Closing my eyes, I see you. + 2. Make my Monday better. Fuck me. + 3. I remember being inside of you. + 25. Let me take care of you. + 41. Keep going now. Please don’t stop.
> 
> More of the friends-with-benefits 'verse.

She’s not quite sure what she expected. Maybe that he’d freak out a little, or at the least want some space, which she would’ve understood. Sleeping with him while on a mission was incredibly impulsive of her, and _stupid_ considering she’s his supervising officer, and quite possibly the only friend he bothers to spend time with. Her evenings consist of the two of them on his couch, watching Netflix and eating takeout; her days, with him at the gym, or letting him tag along when they both have errands to run. Nick wanted her to help Steve acclimate to his new life, but she’s fairly certain he didn’t mean by monopolizing his time.

And she’s absolutely certain he didn’t mean by sleeping with him.

She lets herself into his apartment, the smell of garlic and marinara sauce wafting in the air. She knows it’s ridiculous that something as simple as walking in on Steve making dinner is comforting to her, but she’s trying not to dwell on it.

Her mission in Rio had gone smoother than they’d predicted, but that was still three days of working in 80-degree humidity in nothing but a two-piece bikini. On top of her flight home being delayed by three hours, Phil had found her after debriefing and spent another twenty minutes discussing the new training schedule for recruits because he’d wanted her input. She knows she’s not in the best mood right now, and she knows Steve can see it on her face. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t tease her for picking his lock as he always does.

“Rough day?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed in genuine concern as she shrugs out of her jacket, drapes it over the back of a chair.

“I’ve had better,” she says, a wry grin tugging at her lips. Steve chuckles softly and switches off the burner, reaching for her and drawing her to his chest. She’s never been a hugger, _ever_ , and honestly? She hadn’t expected Steve to be one. But she doesn’t question it too much.

He brushes his lips to her hair. “Can I do anything to help?”

She tucks her hands under the hem of his shirt, slides her fingers up his chest. “You can make my Monday better and _fuck me_.”

He chuckles softly and the sound of it makes her skin tingle, eases the dull ache in her muscles. She tips her head up and covers his mouth with hers in a kiss, slow and deep, tongue sliding out to lick at the seam of his lips. He makes this noise from the back of his throat; not one of surprise, but almost one of _relief_.

The thought of that – of him sitting in his apartment, wanting her home just as much as she wanted, craving her just as much as she had during her whole damn mission in Rio – almost makes her shiver. Her heart is thrumming in her chest, her pulse racing, her entire body practically vibrating in anticipation and impatience. He must feel her touches growing more desperate, her kiss growing more uninhibited, because he murmurs her name and grasps her hip with one hand, giving it a squeeze, either in reassurance or in restraint. She’s not quite sure. His other hand slides down her side, slips around her front and down the flat of her stomach, cupping her through her yoga pants, and she gasps.

 _Fuck_ , she’s already wet. And judging by the way his entire body tenses, Steve can tell.

“Nat, you–” He cuts himself off with a hard swallow, pulling back to hold her gaze. She tries to see hesitance in his gaze, any little sign that means he’s uncomfortable with this, with _her_ , and the fact that she’s missed his touch so much that she’s already melting in the palm of his hand. But there isn’t any at all. No flicker of uncertainty or reluctance. _Nothing_.

Just the same intensity she knows he must be able to see in her eyes.

“I’ve been waiting for this.” She licks her lips. “I’ve been imagining this for days.”

He lets out a, “ _fuck_ ,” under his breath and spins them around, hooks an arm around her and hoists her onto the counter, perching her on the edge. His eyes are dark and stormy, swirling with hunger, and maybe even something far more intense. “Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was you,” he tells her, his hands grasping the waistband of her yoga pants, and she lifts her hips up to help him slide them down her legs, along with her panties. She half-expects him to drop to his knees like he’s done every other time he’s lifted her onto this very spot on the counter, but he doesn’t. He skims his fingertips slowly up her thighs as his other hand slides up her back and presses her close, their chests flushed together. She grasps his face, tries to kiss him, but he leans away.

“Steve.” She almost, _almost_ huffs.

“I knew the nature of your mission, and I hated thinking that someone else might be touching you.” His breath is warm against the shell of her ear as he whispers this to her, and her lips part, her breath hitching. He chuckles and dips his head lower, kisses the underside of her jaw. “You’ve done stuff like that hundreds of times. It’s your _job_ , and it’s not my place to be jealous. But I couldn’t help myself.” He nips at her skin, pulling a mewl from the back of her throat as his fingers finally, _finally_ , reach where she wants him most. He strokes her lightly, with two fingers and a barely-there pressure that makes her hand shoot down to curl over the edge of the counter, gripping tightly. “Does that make you uncomfortable? Knowing I was jealous?”

She shakes her head immediately, a little taken aback by how true that is. She has never once belonged to anyone but her employer, and when men would become possessive, it was irritating, but something she barely batted an eye at.

It’s different with Steve, though.

(She’s quickly realizing that almost _everything_ is different with Steve.)

She shakes her head, tries to roll her hips, urge him for more, for faster, for _something_. “Tell me,” she breathes out. “Tell me what you were thinking.”

He licks the mark of his teeth on her neck, catches her lips with his and muffles the sound she makes when he sinks his fingers into her. She’s already so wet that he slides three fingers in easily, curling, making her gasp and let her head fall back, hitting into one of the cupboards, but she hardly feels it. Every one of her senses is distracted by the press of his fingertips inside her, teasing, pulling her apart little by little.

“I was remembering.” He pulls his lips from hers, grazing her cheek with a kiss so tender and gentle that it’s a little disorienting. “Remembering being inside of you.” He curls his fingers, angles his wrist and sinks in deeper, somehow. She _moans_. “Remembering how it feels when you fall apart around me.” He kisses her other cheek. “Does it feel as perfect for you as it does for me?”

She jerks her head in a nod, back arching, and then her body tenses when he grips her shoulder, squeezing the bruise that’s still tender from the beginning of her mission. He pauses, but that’s _worse_ , and she whimpers and grasps his wrist, breathing out, “I’m fine, I’m fine, just keep going.”

“Nat–”

“Keep going _now_. Please don’t stop.”

Fuck, she’s never, ever begged for anyone before, but it spills from her lips before she can quite catch it, and she realizes that she doesn’t want to take it back. She needs him to make her feel good, and it needs to be _him_.

“Okay, baby,” he murmurs, kissing her once, twice, three times. “Okay, okay.”

And then he’s curling his fingers again, his strokes harder, deeper, the heel of his hand grazing her clit and making her _shake_.

She wonders, somewhere in the back of her mind, beyond the white-hot haze of pleasure, why it feels so much more intense than she remembers.

“I’ve got you.” He kisses her, soft and sweet, and she lets out a cry, her muscles coiling, tightening, as he drives her right toward that edge. “Just let go, Nat. Let go. Let me take care of you.” He kisses the middle of her forehead, and it’s ridiculous that it’s this simple gesture that tips her over the edge. “ _Let go_ , Nat.”

She thinks she says his name as she comes, thinks she must say it over and over again, in time with the rapid beating of her heart, but she can’t really make sense of _anything_. Her orgasm bursts over her, making her skin tingle, making her body hum, and it feels like every ache in her muscles is swept away in the pleasure that washes over her.

Her body is still trembling when Steve pulls his fingers out, wipes them over his jeans before hooking her legs around his waist and lifting her up. She blinks her eyes open to meet his, and he gives her that dimpled, boyish smile of his as he walks her over to the couch and sets her down. He tries to pull back, but she cups the back of his neck with both of her hands, dragging his lips to hers in a kiss.

“Time for dinner,” he says against her lips, reaching down to pat her hip.

She unhooks her legs but doesn’t let go of him, looking down at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants. He chuckles and shakes his head, gently prying her hands off of his neck so that he can stand up properly.

“Later,” he promises, eyes twinkling as he reaches for the folded over the back of the couch and drapes it over her. “I need to get some food in you first.”

“Steve.” She doesn’t really mean to laugh, but she can’t help it. Eating is not exactly a priority of hers right now.

“When’s the last time you ate?” he asks almost in a challenge, one eyebrow raised as he makes his way back to the kitchen. She rolls her eyes but doesn’t answer. She thinks it was this morning waiting for her flight, but she actually isn’t sure. That’s probably his point. He grins at her from the kitchen. “So, is it a one or two garlic bread kind of night?”

Her stomach growls. “Two,” she calls out, reaching for the remote on the coffee table to switch on the TV. Netflix is already queued up to the next episode of _Game of Thrones_ , and, she realizes with a smile, he’s left it _exactly_ the same. Three days without her, and he’d taken to something else (sketching, most likely, since his sketchbook is sitting on the end table) rather than finishing any of the shows she knows he’s been itching to watch. It’s stupid that she finds it so touching, and even more stupid that she knows she would’ve done the same for him.

He comes back holding two plates of spaghetti with meatballs, each with two slices of garlic bread and almost more shredded mozzarella than marinara sauce, just the way she likes it. He hands her a plate and settles next to her on the couch, kicks his feet up on the coffee table. She’s completely naked under this blanket, and they’re sitting on the couch and eating _dinner_ , and honestly? It wouldn’t be the first time this happened.

(She wonders, not for the first time, how she used to spend her time before Steve came into her life.)

(She hopes she doesn’t have to remember.)


	17. Bucky/Kara - #23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~2,300  
>  **for:** bloodredmoon87   
> **prompt:** 23\. Don’t worry, Sweetheart. Just be patient.

Kara is eleven when he first meets her, and he’s sixteen and in high school, and the first thing he thinks is that Steve’s new step-sister is kind of cute.

Sarah getting married is – _weird_. It’s always just been her and Steve in the house next door, and as many times as his parents (especially his mom) have urged Sarah to date, they probably didn’t expect for her to go from single to married in the span of two months. She’s clearly smitten, and Steve tells them that Jeremiah is nice. He lost his wife in a car accident a few years ago, has two girls of his own, and always sends his mom home with flowers after their dates. When Bucky asks what Steve thinks about his mom getting married practically overnight, Steve just shrugs his shoulders and says that Jeremiah asked for his blessing before taking his mom to Vegas for the weekend.

Sarah is practically glowing, and she’s totally giggly and happy and in love when she invites his family and Jeremiah and his daughters for lunch, and it’s really, _really_ nice to see. Steve seems to get along with him, too, and also with his daughters. Alex is their age and definitely a piece of work, and when Bucky tells her this, she laughs and says that that’s one of her favorite compliments.

Kara is younger, and _shyer_ , with her blonde curls pulled back into a ponytail and a set of red-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

“You know,” Steve says, giving his new little sister a dimpled smile as he nudges her with his elbow, “you look more related to me than you do to Alex.”

Kara _giggles_ , and Bucky blinks.

And then she turns to Bucky and smiles, and he blinks again, totally caught off guard. Over her head, Steve laughs and Alex arches an eyebrow.

Well, shit.

-

Kara is thirteen, and he’s eighteen, and she looks really pretty in her white and yellow sundress with her hair all curled and the little star necklace he gave her for her birthday draped at her neck. He and Steve just graduated high school like, two seconds ago, and as her sister and her dad are congratulating Steve just a foot away, Kara turns the biggest, brightest smile he’s ever seen toward him and stretches on her toes to give him a hug. 

“You did it!” she exclaims, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

He laughs and reaches over to gently tug on one of her curls. “I did.”

Kara is finishing out her last year at the private school she’s gone to since Kindergarten, which means that he doesn’t see her as often as he sees Alex. Jeremiah gets up early so he can drive her across the city to get her to her morning ( _morning!_ ) club, and she comes home late after one of her classmates drops her off from volleyball or basketball or whatever the hell practice she’s got. He can’t keep track. The girl does _everything_ , and it’s kind of awesome to watch from the sidelines when he can catch a game, or when he’s over for dinner and hears her babbling on about her day while she’s baking.

She’s a sweet kid, and next year she’ll be a freshman, and he kind of hates the idea of her going through high school alone. Alex and Steve will be in different states, and Bucky will be three hours away, and it’s not that he thinks she can’t handle it, but shit. He just doesn’t like the thought of her getting hurt, _ever_.

“Bet you’re going to miss my awesome chocolate chip cookies in college,” she tells him, head tilted, eyes crinkled in that cute little smile of hers.

“What do you mean?” He grins. “You know I’ll need those to study.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not driving _three hours_ to drop off some cookies!” Eyelashes fluttering, she laughs as she adds, “I can’t even drive yet!”

He chuckles. “No, _genius_. I’ll come and visit you.”

“You will?”

She sounds genuinely surprised, and it tugs at something in him. “Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You sure you won’t be too busy?”

She looks – nervous. Which she’s never been around him. Excitable, yes. Maybe a little spastic, yes. But never _nervous_. It makes him frown, but then she blinks up at him, lips pressed together, and he feels his chest squeeze ever so slightly. He reaches for her, tugs at another one of her curls.

“For you, I won’t be.”

-

Kara’s sixteen, and he’s twenty-one, and it’s a little ironic that he’s sitting in his childhood bedroom and sort of fucking around on his laptop and she’s out at a party. And he knows this because she text him – well, him and Steve and Alex in the group text  – and then Steve and Alex text him separately to make sure he’s awake until she gets home, _just in case_. Which, duh. He’d already planned on it as soon as he figured out she would be out. He wonders what she must’ve told Sarah and Jeremiah. Probably that she’s sleeping over at a friend’s.

His phone buzzes on the desk, and he smiles when he sees Kara’s contact photo light up his screen, then frowns when he thinks of what she might need.

“How’s the party, Kara.”

“James?”

He sits up straight, blood running cold. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes?” She sounds confused. Or maybe it’s because he can’t entirely make out her voice above the music and chatter. “Oh! Oh, you think I’m calling because– no, _no_. I’m fine, James, I promise. I just… Can you come pick me up?”

She sounds uncomfortable, but not panicked, or even afraid.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Yeah, of course.”

She texts him the address, and he drives up to the curb to find her sitting on the railing of the porch, kicking her feet back and forth. There’s another girl with her, and when Kara sees him, she hops off of the railing and hugs the girl and practically dives into his passenger seat. “Bye, Lena!” Kara calls out.

“Friend?”

“ _Best_ friend,” she corrects, reaching over to mess with his presets.

He wrinkles his nose. “How much did you drink? You smell like a six-pack.”

She rolls her eyes. “I drank half a cup. Some guy dumped beer on me. By _accident_ ,” she rushes to add when his entire body tenses, “calm down.”

“And you’re still _wearing_ it?”

She shrugs. “Well, yeah. Lena let me borrow her cardigan, but it soaked through to my bra, so there’s no helping that. Hey, can we get burgers?”

She’s turned entirely to face him, legs tugged up to her chest, arms wrapped around her knees. She looks up at him from under those ridiculously long eyelashes, eyes bright and wide and sparkling, her cheeks tinged pink, teeth bared in a smile, and _fuck_. Just like that, all the tension in his body dissolves. He’s not all that hungry, but honestly? He thinks spending his night with Kara at a 24-hour diner sounds like a pretty damn good time.

“Only if you’re sharing your strawberry milkshake with extra whipped cream and extra sprinkles,” he says, and she giggles, shrugs her shoulders all cutely.

“Only with you, James.”

-

Kara’s eighteen, and he’s twenty-three, and he’s moved back to the city, in a studio apartment he shares with Alex. Steve is still in California, because he’s got a lot more opportunities as a graphic designer in San Francisco, and also because he’s got a girl who he’s not “officially” seeing, even though she’s always at his apartment whenever Bucky calls, and their pictures are all over Steve’s social media, and Steve told him that he told Natasha that he loved her almost a month ago. She hasn’t said it back yet, but they’re still stupidly in love so he thinks that still counts.

Anyway.

Alex is gone with her girlfriend for the weekend, and just when he thought his heart couldn’t crack any more, it does. Kara’s standing in the living room area in an oversized cable-knit sweater and her hair in a gorgeous mess clipped atop her head, and her eyes are wet and red and a little puffy from crying.

“She’s gone?” she asks, and then hiccups.

“Yeah. _Fuck_ , come here,” he says, tugging her to his chest, and she winds her arms around him and squeezes pretty damn hard, but he doesn’t mind at all.

He sits her down on top of his bed, makes her tea and, eventually, gets out of her that her boyfriend cheated on her. And he’s _pissed_ , muscles tightening, jaw clenching, and every single part of him feels like he could burst. But then she turns to him with her cheeks all flushed from crying and her breaths uneven and her eyes huge and just really _sad_ , and he feels most of his anger dissolve almost as quickly as it had come. He pulls her close, sort of forces her to cuddle against his side with her head tucked into the curve of his shoulder.

“It’s just… it’s pointless, you know?”

He looks at her. He gets that she’s heartbroken, yes, and _god_ , it must suck even more for it to end the way it did. But she’s not the kind of person to give up just like that. “Love isn’t pointless, Kara,” he says. “It never is.”

“No, not _that_. I mean…” She shakes her head, reaching up to wipe at her cheeks again. “Never mind. It’s silly.”

He tucks a finger under her chin, tips her head up. “It’s not silly.”

Her lips twitch in a smile. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

“Well, yeah, but when have you ever said something _silly?_ ” He has this really strong urge to brush his thumb over her lower lip, because it just looks soft and he’s kind of wanted to do it for a while now (maybe _years_ ), so he just – does it. “You say things that are amusing, because you’re you, and I can never keep up with whatever the hell you’ve got going on in your head.” He doesn’t know why he feels like he needs to keep talking, but she’s just looking at him, eyelashes still dotted with tears, and he thinks she looks really fucking beautiful, and he’s always been a little out of sorts around her. “But you have never, ever said something _silly_ , like it’s not worth talking about.”

His gaze drops to her lips, down to her throat when she swallows lightly, and maybe that’s why he’s not entirely paying attention to what her hands are doing until she’s grasping the material of his shirt with both hands. Her eyes are fixed on his lips as she says, “It’s _silly_ and _pointless_ for me to try to date, because there’s always been another boy. A boy I like so much I don’t know what to do.”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds rough even to his own ears.

Her eyes flick up to his. “Yeah.”

He feels a little like he can’t breathe, but in the best way possible. His fingers are buzzing to touch her, like every single cell in his body knows how much he’s imagined this moment, how much he’s _wanted_ it. “Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

“ _Please_.”

She says it in this impatient little huff, tugging at his shirt, and he’s smiling like an idiot when he presses his lips against hers.

Kara has that effect on him.

-

Kara’s eighteen, about to be nineteen, and he’s twenty-four, and they’ve only been dating for a few months now, but it feels like it’s been _years_. It feels like they’ve been this way their whole lives, or maybe that they’ve spent their whole lives knowing they were going to get here eventually. It’s ridiculous, and Steve gives him considerably less shit for it than he’d given his best friend for taking so damn long to propose to Natasha.

He’d half-expected Alex to flatten him to the ground, but instead, she’d given him this glare he knows was only half-playful, and that was _it_. No threats to keep her safe because she knows he already does. No warnings not to break her heart because she knows he’d rather cut off his own arm before being the reason that Kara cries. Jeremiah pats him on the back and says, “about time,” while Kara laughs and sort of flails her arms in mock-embarrassment, and his mom basically recounts every single reason over the last _decade_ as to why she knew he and Kara were going to end up together.

So, yeah. It’s good _._

 _They’re_ good. In fact, they’re pretty fucking perfect.

“ _James_ ,” she whines, quivering underneath him, nails digging down the muscles of his back as she shifts her hips up. Her folds are warm and wet and still a little sensitive and swollen from when he’d pulled two orgasms from her with his fingers and his tongue and his teeth. He groans as as his hard length slides over her, through her, teasing at where they both want him most.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he tells her, brushing a kiss to her lips. She blinks her eyes open, and, _fuck_. That look alone is almost enough to set him off. He rolls his hips, slides over her little bundle, and she whimpers. “Just be patient.”

“I don’t _want_ to!”

He doesn’t mean to laugh, but, well.

“Don’t tease me,” she breathes, pouting her lip, and he leans down to nip at it. “I’ve been waiting ever since we met. I don’t want to wait any longer.”

“Well, considering you were _eleven_ when we met, that’s rather inappropriate.”

She’s laughing and totally blushing even as she rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

He chuckles as she reaches between them, wraps her dainty fingers around his length and guides him to her entrance. She grins up at him, her eyes twinkling. Then he’s pushing into her and her eyelashes are fluttering closed, her mouth parting in a delicious moan, a moan he’s heard dozens and dozens and times by now. But every new time feels like the first, catching him off guard just as she had the moment they met, and he thinks it’s the best fucking feeling ever.


	18. Steve/Natasha - #4, 7, 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **word count:** ~  
>  **for:** fangirling-romanogers, donna--lynn, an an anon  
>  **prompt:** 4\. I’ll never get enough of you. + 7. I fuck you in my mind. + 15. Orgasms are better with a partner.
> 
> More of the friends-with-benefits 'verse.

A moan pulls her from her sleep, long and gruff, and her eyelashes flutter open, glancing at the digital clock on the wall. 4:04 AM.

Another moan sounds from down the hallway, and she sits up, runs her fingers over the still-empty spot on the bed beside her. Steve hadn’t been home when she let herself into his apartment, which she didn’t think of. Honestly, she didn’t think of anything at all last night, other than how much she wanted to rest after spending four days in Berlin. Nor did she think of how her first instinct was to drive to Steve’s place rather than her own. She keeps expecting for Steve to come to his senses and realize he doesn’t want something so casual with her. He’ll let her down as gently as possible, too, and he’ll want to stay friends, and she knows she’ll be able to handle it.

She _will_.

Her heart skips as she hears her name being groaned out, breathy and low and tight, as if in restraint. She swallows, licks her lips as she slips out of bed and makes her way down the hallway, padding softly over the hardwood.

She peers into the kitchen, then feels her breath hitch at what she sees: Steve’s silhouette bent over the kitchen island, forearm braced against the edge of the counter as his hand slides over his length. She feels a burst of heat unfurl in her stomach, her lips parting. His jeans are pooled at the floor around his ankles, his leather jacket half-falling off of the kitchen island, like he’d been stumbling and impatient. Like he’d been _desperate_.

“ _Nat_ ,” he moans, and her heart skips again. She’s torn between wanting to watch him and wanting to _touch him_. God, she wants to touch him. It’s been four days, and she hadn’t realized just how much she missed him until right now.

Oh, _fuck_.

“You know,” she says, voice soft, and Steve’s entire body jerks as his head snaps up, eyes meeting hers. “Orgasms are better with a partner.”

He swallows, hard, eyes tracing over her. His shirt is falling off of one of her shoulders, the hem brushing over the tops of her thighs, and his eyes widen ever so slightly. But he doesn’t look surprised to see her. She tries to ignore how her chest squeezes a little at this. He knew she’d been home – probably saw her bag on the couch, or her boots by the front door –  and would rather take care of himself than have her do it?

“Did I wake you?” he asks. His voice is still thick and heavy, a little breathless, and it draws her gaze back to where his hand is still lingering.

“You _should_ have.” She walks toward him, reaching for him, but then he winces ever so slightly and she feels her stomach flip uneasily. His face is angled away from her, and there’s something _off_ in his gaze, enough to make her pause altogether. He doesn’t seem to notice at first, until she starts to pull her hands away, then he’s turning to face her with his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. She smooths her expression into nonchalance. “Unless I should go instead?”

He blinks, caught off guard. Almost a little hurt. “No,” he says quickly, a little too quickly. Her chest eases a little. “Did you want to go?”

“No.” She reaches between them, gently pries his fingers off of his length. He swallows, letting out a low, harsh breath. “I want to take care of you.” She wraps her hand around him, tugs slowly. “I wanted you to wake me up for this instead of taking things into your own hand. You know I’m a lot better at it than you.”

He breathes out a chuckle and grasps her hips, making her jump ever so slightly, skin tingling where he’s touched her.

“I didn’t want to bother you.” He leans in, brushes a kiss to her lips. “I know you’ve had a long week.” He kisses her again. “We’ve barely gotten to see each other this month, or spend any time together outside of my bed.” His lips twitch. “I figured probably had enough of me and needed a break.”

She _laughs_ and shakes her head. His smile widens.

“I’ll never get enough of you,” she tells him, her heart thrumming, her voice coming out thin with the weight of how true her words are. But it isn’t quite as terrifying to say them out loud as she’d thought. “And I feel like I should be insulted that you thought I’d need a break.” She’s (mostly) teasing, and he chuckles because he knows. She runs her thumb over the tip of him, slowly, teasing, watching as his amused expression tugs in places, quickly turning to arousal. She slides her hand up and down, up and down, feeling his grip tighten on her. “If I wasn’t so worked up, I’d leave you to finish yourself.”

He arches an eyebrow. “So you’re just using me?”

If she didn’t know him so well, she’d think that question was genuine.

“Of course,” she breathes out, feeling him pulse in her slick palm. “Why else do you think I keep coming around for?”

He breathes out a laugh, squeezes her hips. “Let’s go to bed.”

She shakes her head, pulls her hand off of him and can’t help the smirk that curves at her lips at the little sound he makes. She tugs her shirt over her head and drops it on the floor, and no, of course she hadn’t been wearing anything underneath it. “I want you right here.” She grasps his shirt, pushing the hem of it up his chest, and he lifts his arms so she can yank him out of it. “So the next time you stumble into your kitchen, desperate for pleasure,” she continues, taking a step toward him, “you’ll remember taking me right here on the floor, and your hand won’t ever be enough. And all you’ll be able to think about is how much you want to _fuck me_.”

Something very close to a growl rips from the back of his throat, and he grasps her by her hips and lifts her, their lips crashing together as she winds her legs around him. He’s _hard_ , and she’s already so, so wet, and the press of her wet sex against his skin makes him groan low and long into their kiss.

“Already, Nat?” he asks, and she can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“Shut up,” she huffs. He chuckles, maneuvers them so that he can lay her gently against the floor. The tile is cold against her flushed skin, and a shiver crawls up her spine, making her moan when he presses their lips together again. He’s got one hand braced somewhere above her head, his body towering over her, crowding her space, surrounding her with all of his heat and solid muscles. She lets her legs fall apart and he reaches between them and swipes his thumb over her slick heat, grazing her bundle of nerves. Her mouth parts, back arching.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he murmurs, repeating the motion, circling her clit. She lets out a mewl. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you took matters into your own hands, too.”

“I tried to.” She reaches up and digs her nails into the muscles of his back, rolls her hips up, needing _more_. “I’ve been fucking you in my mind ever since I left your apartment four days ago.” He groans, and she blinks her eyes open, lips curving. “I fuck you in my mind all the time, actually. If that makes a difference.”

“It does.” He lets out a breath. “And I do, too.”

(She thinks, maybe, just _maybe_ , they’re not just talking about sex right now.)

“Okay.” She licks her lips, scratches her nails down until they reach the small of his back, and then she tries to tug his hips to hers. She lets out a whine. An honest-to-god _whine_. What the hell is this man doing to her? “Steve,” she says.

“I know, I know.”

“Then _do something_ about it, Rogers,” she all but growls, and his laugh is gruff and gravelly as he lines himself up at her entrance. He licks his lips, then dips his head and kisses her, long and hard and deep, his tongue pressing against hers, and pushes in. She doesn’t know if it’s because she hasn’t been able to catch her breath because she’s been aching for him so much, or if four days is actually long enough for her to forget what he feels like, because it’s so much more _intense_. It feels deeper, feels fuller, and she has to suck in a gasp.

He groans out her name as he bottoms out, and she feels his muscles coil and tighten under her fingertips, his body practically vibrating.

And then he _moves_.

He rolls his hips a little faster, and faster, angling and sinking in deeper, and a sharp, high-pitched moan falls from her lips.

She slams a hand down against the tile, scratching at the floor, needing something, _anything_ to keep her grounded, to keep her from spiraling way too quickly. She arches her back, rolls her hips to meet his thrusts, and the floor is biting into her shoulder with every one of his thrusts, but she hardly cares. She barely even feels it.

“ _Fuck_ , fuck,” he mutters, over and over into her lips.

Her heart is pounding in her chest, her lungs burning as she struggles to catch a breath between his kisses. She’s already trembling, her warmth swirling and coiling and tightening low in her stomach. She knows she’s not going to last long. Not when she’s been craving his touch for days, not when she’s tried to recreate his voice in her head as she touched herself, tried to remember how he felt around her and inside her and all over her as she got herself off. She’s had nothing but dull satisfaction for the last few nights: enough to sate her arousal, but not nearly enough to quench it.

He moves his arm under the bend of her knee, folding her leg closer to her body, opening her up and sinking in even deeper. She lets out a cry, his name on her lips, dissolving into a long, keening moan as he brushes against that sweet spot. He’s being rougher than usual, struggling to hold on to some shred of control, just like her, and the thought alone is enough to make her mind spin.

“Nat, I–” A shudder rolls down his spine, his hips jerking, stuttering. “I–”

“Me too,” she says, voice coming out breathy and shaky. “I’m so close.” She lets out a whimper, grasps his face with both of her hands and kisses him, quick but desperate. He blinks his eyes open, eyelids heavy as he meets her gaze. Her stomach flutters. “So close, Steve. I’m almost there. I’m _almost there_.”

 _Get me there_ , she doesn’t say, but she knows he understands.

His free hand fumbles between them, this thumb finding her bundle of nerves and circling tightly over it, over and over, with the perfect amount of pressure.

She doesn’t know if it takes minutes or seconds, but she feels herself starting to unravel at the seams, and then he says her name, his breath hot and soft and sweet right next to her ear, and her orgasm bursts over her. Everything is white-hot and tingling and almost smothering in the best way possible as it races through her. She’s vaguely aware of his thrusts getting faster, harder, and of her walls fluttering tighter and tighter around his length. When he comes, it’s with a long moan that sounds very, very much like her name, and then he’s whispering it again and again in her ear, hips jerking through his high.

His head falls forward, forehead pressing against hers. She’s still holding on his face, thumb idly stroking along the line of his jaw. He’s leaning more of his weight against her, only braced on his elbow now, but she doesn’t mind. She actually kind of likes how it feels to be pressed underneath him: not like she’s trapped, but a little like she’s _protected_. Maybe that’s stupid, but she doesn’t care.

After a long moment, he lifts his head, brushes a kiss to her lips, once, twice, three times. Then he smiles at her, dimpled and boyish and entirely _Steve_.

“Next time, I’ll wake you first,” he tells her, and she knows that he’s making more than one promise right now.

And honestly? She knows he’ll keep every single one of them.

She’s counting on it.


	19. Steve/Natasha - #12, 21, 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~2,500  
>  **for:** alphaliar, imstandinghere, and two anons  
>  **prompt:** 12\. You have changed me forever, Sweetheart. + 21. You know I’ll always protect you. + 49. Look at me while you come. + loosely inspired by [this gifset](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/166270289680/evanzski-steve-natasha-au-series-teasing)

He finds her. He _finds her_ , and she doesn’t think she’s ever felt that kind of relief before. Intense, consuming, surprising relief that sucks the air from her lungs and squeezes over her chest and makes every inch of her skin tingle.

She’s sitting at her own table in this little coffee shop just down the street from the apartment she’s been hiding out in, and she thinks she feels him before she even sees him. _God_ , she realizes how dramatic that must sound, but she isn’t sure how else to describe the odd burst of warmth that unfurls in her stomach when she sees a figure step through the door. His body is shrouded by his coat, but then he turns his head toward the menu and she feels her breath hitch. Because she’d recognize that profile anywhere.

Then his lips curl, ever so slightly. A small gesture no one would notice, unless you know where to look for it.

Unless you spent the last few months picturing it.

He keeps his eyes trained on the menu as he places his order, casually but very deliberately avoiding eye contact. He’s grown out a beard in the months they’ve been apart, and, admittedly, she maybe wouldn’t have recognized him out on the street. But your mind never forgets faces, and you’d be surprised how much easier it is to recognize someone just by looking into their eyes.

She remembers, briefly, how out of his element he’d been while undercover once upon a time. She taught him well.

He steps near her table when as he waits for his order, and it’s busy enough that it’s perfectly believable of him to bump into her table as a mother and her two bouncing, babbling sons try to squeeze by him toward the restroom. He murmurs a brisk, “Sorry, ma’am,” as he pats her shoulder, and she almost closes her eyes. As pathetic as it sounds, she’s really missed his voice.

He steps out of the a few minutes, hides his smile behind the rim of his cup when he takes a sip. She tosses the last bite of her breakfast sandwich into the trash, slipping into the family restroom and clicking the lock into place behind her. Then she reaches into the breast pocket of her coat and slips out the hotel key card he’d slipped her earlier. She smiles.

-

His shoes are by the door when she lets herself in, his coat draped over the back of the armchair. He isn’t in the sitting room, but she can hear him in the bedroom, and she feels her breath hitch, her pulse picking up. She sets her purse onto the coffee table, starts shrugging out of her coat, and then he’s stepping through the doorway and stopping in his tracks when he sees her.

And then he _smiles_. Warm and bright, slowly pulling at his lips, until it takes up his entire face.

“Hi.” Her voice comes out breathy.

“Hi,” he echoes, crossing the room toward her in a few strides. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come right away.”

“I wanted to see you,” she admits. Her throat feels a little tighter, and her hand is shaking ever so slightly as she clutches onto the key card so hard she thinks it may actually snap. She blinks up at him, a little startled when her eyelashes dot with tears. _God_ , she doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. There are a dozen thoughts swirling around in her head, but she can’t grasp onto any one of them, can’t bring herself to form the words, to even _move_.

So Steve does instead. His smile softens as he steps forward, coming to stand right in front of her. He reaches down, grasps the hand that’s holding on the key card, and it’s as if the tension in her muscles dissolves as soon as his skin brushes against hers. He eases the card out of her hand, gently tosses it onto the coffee table before twining their fingers together. He brings his other hand up to wipe at the corner of her eye, stroking the pad of his thumb down her cheek, calloused but comforting. They’ve never, ever touched like this before but it feels _natural_. Even with her heart thrumming in her chest, even with her stomach fluttering, there’s something oddly familiar about this moment. Or maybe it’s just because she’s imagined seeing him so many times before that it’s been enough to forget how many months have gone by without being with him.

“You look well,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes trace down the front of her, no doubt checking for any visible sign of injury, any scars. Then his eyes slide back up to hers, and, softer, he adds, “You look beautiful, too.”

“I was wondering when you’d compliment the hair,” she teases.

He breathes out a chuckle, fingering the tips of her blonde hair. She’d cut it short again after she bleached it, but it’s grown out since then, grazing the tops of her collarbones. “You look good as a blonde.” Lips quirking at the corner, he adds, “I suspect you’d look good in any color. But I’ll admit, I do miss the red.”

Her heart does a flip. An honest-to-god _flip_.

She’s fucked. So entirely fucked.

“You grew a beard,” she blurts out like an idiot. His eyes twinkle.

“I did,” he indulges. “A lot’s happened since–”

 _Since_. Since their family and their home came down in ruins. Since they chose different sides and were left to fend for themselves. Since she walked away from him in that church, and he’d flown away from her in that airport hanger.

“Yeah,” she breathes. His eyes glance down at her lips. A burst of heat unfurls in her stomach. “We should probably talk about things.”

“Probably.”

Her every nerve feels like it’s tingling, buzzing, _humming_. Here they are, teasing each other as if no time has passed, as if nothing has changed, but it _has_. Oh god, it has. They’re just standing here, and they’ve barely started talking, and it already feels overwhelming. As if every little thing she’s felt but never said out loud, and every single thought she’s hidden behind wry sarcasm and vague teasing, has been building and building over the last few months, and she feels like she’s about to burst into a thousand pieces.

“We should…” She swallows. “– _talk_ first.”

“Nat,” he says, voice low and gravelly and tight, like he’s barely holding himself back. “Is that really what you want to do?”

She shakes her head.

He nods. And then licks his lips.

And then he _kisses her_.

He grasps her face with both hands and slants his lips over hers, kissing her hard and long and deep and desperate. She nearly tips backward with the force of it, the force of _him_ , but she grasps onto his sweater and grips it tightly between her fingers. She thinks she might’ve let out a whimper, but she can’t hear anything over the blood pounding through her veins.

“ _Nat_.”

His breath comes our sharp and harsh against her lips and she pulls away just barely, hisses out, “ _Touch me_.”

He groans and nods, wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her to his chest. She thinks he’s leading them toward the bedroom, but he tugs them to the wall instead, making it shake as he all but throws her against it, pinning her beneath him as he grasps at the material of her shirt and tightens his grip. He pauses to meet her gaze, his eyes storming and hungry, and then he yanks at her shirt. It’s silky and much more expensive than it looks, but it tears like tissue paper in his hands, and she’s too desperate to be even a little pissed about it.

“Thank god for super serums,” she breathes out.

He chuckles, kisses the curve of her neck as he pops the front of her leather pants open, starts pushing it down her legs. She steps out of them, then sucks in a gasp, her head falling back to hit the wall when he reaches between them and cups his hand over her sex. She’s wet. _God_ , she’s ridiculously wet.

“I can’t believe–” He swallows, stroking over the front of her, the heel of his hand grazing just above her bundle of nerves. She bites down on her lower lip. “Tell me this is too much.” He presses harder. “Tell me to stop, Nat.”

She kisses him again, and again, and again, rolling into his hand. Her head is hazy and dizzy and spinning. It _is_ too much, but also not enough, not _at all_.

“Don’t you dare, Rogers,” she all but growls out. He latches onto the pulse in her neck and suckles it between his lips, dipping his hand into her panties. Her knees all but buckle underneath her when his calloused fingertips stroke over her soaked flesh, and she grasps onto his bicep, digs her fingernails in. Maybe she can tell, somewhere in the back of the desire clouding over her thoughts, that he’s still looking for reassurance, or even permission. Or maybe she’s trying to convince herself that it isn’t as pathetic as she thinks that he’s pulling her apart so quickly and so easily, but she adds, “We’ve been waiting for this. Oh, _god_ , we… we’ve been chasing this forever, Steve. It’s not too much.”

He pulls his hand away, kisses the whimper that falls from her lips.

“Good.” He swallows, hard. “Because I… I don’t know if I can hold back, Nat.”

She can tell. His body is wound tight and tense against her, rigid in his restraint. But she doesn’t want that at all.

“ _Good_. Don’t hold back. Don’t hold out on me, Rogers.”

“ _Nat_ ,” he starts, but she scrambles forward, tugging at the hem of his sweater and his shirt and tugging it over his head. She pauses just briefly to take in the sight of his muscles, toned and hard and _perfect_ underneath her fingertips as she smooths her palms over the contours of his chest. And then she grasps at the front of his jeans, popping it open and dragging the zipper down and dipping her hand inside.

Oh, _fuck_.

She wraps her fingers around him, letting out a mewl. He’s hard and pulsing against her palm as she slides it over him. He groans, rolls his hips into her hand once, twice, three times, before grunting and pulling her hand off of him and backing her into the wall again. He pushes his pants and his boxers off, and she doesn’t even realize that she’s still wearing her heels until he goes to yank her panties down her legs and his knuckles graze the straps still wrapped around her ankles.

His eyes are glinting as he meets her gaze, and he steps closer, covers her body with his. She can feel his length brushing against the inside of her thigh, and she reaches between them, lines him up at her entrance.

He presses his forehead to hers, kisses the bridge of her nose. She _laughs_.

“You have changed me forever, sweetheart.” His voice quivers as she strokes over him. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you when we were apart. Wondering if you were alright. Wanting to see you again. Wanting to protect you.”

“I didn’t need protection.”

“I know. I’ve always known.” He reaches down, pulls her hand off of him and brings it up to his lips, brushes a kiss to her knuckles. “But you know I would’ve stayed right by your side if I could’ve. You know I’ll always protect you.”

She nods, murmurs, “I know, I know,” as she cups the back of his neck and brings their lips together.

Then he’s grasping her hips and pressing into her slowly, too slowly, and _god_ , she never thought something could feel so perfect. He’s hard and thick, and she swears she’s so sensitive that she can feel every little press, ever little pull. Her lips fall open as he bottoms out, and he reaches down, hooking her legs around his hips and opening her up even more as he starts moving. She moans, fingers scratching at the wall. His muscles are quivering in restraint, no doubt trying to savor this, to make it last, to take their time, and it’s sweet. It really is.

But it’s not what she wants. Not right now, at least.

She tries to roll her hips to meet his thrust, clenches around him, and he groans and snaps his hips, hard and sudden and so _good_.

“ _Nat_.”

She grasps his face with both hands, kisses him once, twice. “We’ll have time later, Steve,” she promises. He blinks his eyes open, eyebrows furrowing as he meets her gaze. “We’ll have time,” she repeats, and she knows he understands what she’s saying. She can see it in the way his eyes darken, in the way they sparkle, almost in mischief.

Then he grips her hips, thrusting in faster, harder, _deeper_ , and she lets out a keening moan as she grips onto his hair. His beard feels soft and scratchy at the same time as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses over the column of her neck, nipping at her skin. She lets her head fall back to hit the wall, feels her blood thrumming, the warmth in her stomach coiling tighter and tighter. He’s all but slamming her into the wall with every thrust of his hips, his fingers digging so hard into her skin that she knows she’ll bruise, but she doesn’t care, not even a little.

He closes his lips around one of her nipples and sucks down, groaning against her skin as her walls flutter around him in response.

She cries out his name, scratches at his scalp. She’s close, so _close._

And he can tell.

He hitches her leg up a little higher, angles his hips and brushes against a sweet spot that makes her vision blur. Her eyelashes flutter closed as he rolls his hips, brushing that spot again and again, making her gasp.

“Look at me when you come.” His voice is low and firm and commanding, and he snaps his hips, reaches between them and finds her little bundle of nerves. His thumb glides through her slickness, circling and circling. “Nat, look at me.”

Her eyelids are heavy as she blinks them open, vision blurring at the edges. But his eyes are blue and bright _burning_ , and her lips part, her breaths coming out shallow and uneven. He quirks his lips at her, giving her a boyish, dimpled smile, and she’s so focused on him that her orgasm takes her by surprise. It bursts over her, white-hot and dizzying, and she swears the only thing keeping her tethered to this moment is Steve’s eyes, and that stupid, beautiful smile on his face.

He keeps thrusting through her orgasm, dragging it out, making her whimper and claw at his shoulders, and he falls apart on the heels of her high. She feels a little bit like she can’t breathe, a little bit like she’s about to combust, but _god_ , it feel so amazing.

Her body is still trembling, soft shudders rolling down her spine as he leans more of his weight against her, the both of them coming down from their highs. He’s pressed his face into her cheek, his breaths hot against her flushed skin.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, and she thinks (knows) he’s saying something else. Something far more important. Her heart flutters.

“I missed you, too.”


	20. Bucky/Wanda - #16, 17, 19, 30, 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,900  
>  **for:** sleepygrimm and neenandigam  
>  **prompt:** 16\. Stolen kisses. Skin flushed. Passions ignited. + 17. His hardness fit her softness perfectly. + 19. You always make me feel beautiful. + 30. The scent of you is intoxicating. + 35. You want me here. Don’t you? + [this gif (nsfw)](http://companyofthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/166303654827)

“ _Fuck_ , doll.”

She giggles, gnaws on her lower lip and turns her head toward the door. She felt his thoughts before he’d even stepped through the apartment door, heard him taking his time taking off his shoes, hanging his coat. He’d been out with Steve and Sam for drinks by the time she got back from her debriefing, but he knew she’d be home before him. That’s why he laid out the lingerie for her on the bed, with a note that just read: _Happy Birthday, Wanda. I’ll see you soon._

And, tucked underneath that note, she’d found the blindfold. Black and lacy and silky, very obviously meant to go with the sheer chemise he’d picked out.

Her skin had tingled the moment she put it on, and she hasn’t quite been able to shake it, even in the time she’s spent laying among the abundance of pillows on their bed. If she’s being honest, it only made her think about it _more_. She knows that had been the point. He hadn’t kept her waiting very long, either.

It makes her smile, knowing he must’ve felt just as impatient.

“Welcome home.”

He breathes out a chuckle, crossing the room to her in a few quick strides, his steps muted against the carpet. He leans over her, brushing a kiss against her forehead. She sucks in a breath at his touch. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs.

“I _feel_ beautiful.” She’s never given much thought to her appearance. Her clothes, yes, but there had always been far more important things to worry about than her body. But James always makes her feel cherished, makes her feel _perfect_. “You always make me feel beautiful,” she adds, trying to reach for him, but he grasps her wrists gently to stop her. “ _James_.”

“You smell so good, darling.” He skims his lips down and brushes a kiss to her temple. “So fucking intoxicating,” he mumbles, taking a deep breath, and she lets out a giggle. She feels him smirk against her skin. “You’ve got me hooked.”

He teases his lips over hers, kissing her just barely before pulling away.

She hears the rustle of his clothes as he starts undressing, and she leans her head back against the pillows, her breathing growing shallower, more uneven. Maybe it’s the blindfold, or maybe it’s the fact that she’d been waiting for him for a while before this, but she didn’t think she could feel so worked up just _laying_ here. And she knows James can tell, too. Her body jumps in surprise at the brush of his metal hand against her knee, tracing a swirl into her skin.

“Dance for me, doll.”

Her heart skips a beat. “What?” she breathes.

He takes her hand, guiding her to sit up, and she swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands, letting him turn her around. She hears the bed dip as he sits down, but she can’t tell if he’s undressed completely or not. If he’d taken his clothes off, he’d already kicked them out of her way. There’s a pause, and then a song starts playing, probably from his phone: a jazz piece, low and sultry and so incredibly _sexy_ that just the sound of it makes her skin tingle, a burst of heat unfurling in her stomach.

“Can you dance for me?” His voice is gruff, a question and a command all in one.

She swallows lightly, touches her neck and feels her pulse thrumming under her fingertips, a blush spreading across her skin. She’s… never done anything like this before, and he must sense her hesitation over it, because he slides a hand over her hip and gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he tells her. Which, yes, she already knew. He would never, ever pressure her into doing something she was genuinely uncomfortable with. “But I think you’d be really fucking good at it.”

He sounds so tender and encouraging, and so completely _aroused_ at the same time, that her nerves dissolve into pure, aching heat. She nods, and he pulls his hand off of her. She can picture him sitting on the edge of the mattress, or maybe even laying back on his elbows, giving her a sweet, dimpled smile.

She closes her eyes behind the blindfold and lets the music wash over her, lets her body move on its own. Her pulse is thrumming, practically pounding in her ears, drowning everything out as she swivels her hips, tips her neck back and slides her hands over herself. And yet, she’s completely attuned to James – to how heavy his breaths sound, how his body is practically vibrating with energy.

“ _Wanda_.”

A shudder ripples over her, and she slides her hands up, brushing over her nipples through the sheer material of her lingerie. She lets out a mewl, cups her breasts and squeezes gently. He groans, and the sound of it makes her shiver.

“Sure you’ve never done this before, doll?”

His voice comes out tight and strained, and a breathy laugh falls from her lips as she smiles and shakes her head, still moving to the song.

She couldn’t even tell you how much longer she’s dancing – minutes, _seconds_ – because she’s so wound up, so focused on James’s little groans and uneven pants that she barely pays attention to the music anymore. Then James grasps her hips, groans out, “Fucking _come_ _here_ already, doll,” and she breathes out a giggle as he tugs her close, guiding her to lay back down on the pillows. She can feel the warmth of him as he leans over her, feels his fingers hook under the thin straps of her chemise and slide them off of her shoulders, kissing her bared skin.

He catches her lips with his, stealing her breath in a kiss. Her skin feels like it’s on fire, her lungs burning for air even though she feels like she’s gasping.

“Open for me, darling.”

She whimpers, letting her legs fall apart as he hooks his fingers over the neckline of her chemise, tugging it down, down, until her breasts are exposed. 

“James,” she whines, shifting her hips. She can feel how slick she is, soaking through the thin, lacy material of her panties. “I need…”

She tapers off as his lips close around one of her nipples, sucking gently, just barely grazing his teeth against her skin. Her back arches ever so slightly off of the mattress, her grip tightening on the comforter. “You need what, doll?” he asks, _teasing_. She can’t quite find her voice right now, so she grasps the hem of her chemise and tugs it up her stomach, bunching it around her waist so that she’s even more exposed. He flattens his tongue against her nipple before pulling his mouth off and sucking over the other one, his hand dipping between her legs.

He groans as she lets out a whimper.

She’s wet. She’s so, so _wet_.

“You want me here. Don’t you?” He strokes his fingers over her, slipping under the thin front of her panties and sliding easily through her slick folds.

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathes, rolling her hips up, feeling a rush of heat shoot through her as his fingertips brush her little bundle of nerves. She could fall apart just like this – just from his touch, applying pressure in the right places – because she’s so worked up right now. “James, I need–” He sucks a little harder, slides his fingers a little faster. She lets out a mewl, grips the comforter even tighter.

Then he pulls his mouth off of her, pulls his hand away so abruptly that it’s a little disorienting. She blinks her eyes open, genuinely startled for a moment to find her vision obscured, until she remembers the blindfold she’s still wearing. The fact that she can’t see what he’s doing as the bed dips makes her body ache that much more, and then she’s letting out a sharp squeal of surprise when his mouth dips between her legs, licking a stripe up the center of her.

“ _Oh_.”

He closes his mouth over her, sucking, sliding one of her ankles a little higher up the mattress and opening her up to him even more, and she lets out a cry.

He flattens his tongue over her, licks her again, and again, and again, a little faster and a little harder with every stroke. She rolls her hips off of the bed as she chases his tongue, nails scratching at the comforter. She feels a white-hot warmth rushing through her veins, making her stomach coil and tighten, her body shiver, her breaths stuttering. She remembers, vaguely, how incredibly nervous she’d been about James doing this to her for the first time. She wasn’t sure if she could even relax enough for it to be even a little pleasuring for her.

Oh, was she _wrong_.

Just as she was wrong about it being even a fraction as enjoyable for him as it is for her. Because he _loves_ it. Even if she wasn’t attuned to his thoughts, she would still be able to tell this just by the sounds he makes: the way he groans, long and low. The way he sounds like he’s _devouring_ her. She knows that if she were to remove her blindfold, she’d find him kneeling between her legs with his shoulders drawn tightly, his hips rolling into the mattress, following her every move.

“ _James_ , James, James,” she murmurs, one of her hands reaching above her head to dig her nails into a pillow, the other pushing into her hair, tugging at it.

He dips inside, pushes her legs even further apart and curls his tongue, and she dissolves into broken, stuttering mewls.

Her orgasm crashes over her too quickly, too intensely, consuming her in the best way possible. Everything goes white and blurry behind her eyelids as her body shudders, spine arching, every part of her unraveling at the seams.

He slides a hand up her body, cupping one of her breasts with his metal hand. The cool touch sends chills over her flushed skin, and it’s strange how perfect her curves fit in his hands, how her soft, pliant body fits against all of his sharp edges and rigid muscles. They were born decades apart, practically _worlds_ apart, and yet, every time he touches her, it feels a little more like they were made to fit together. She doesn’t know how else to explain how complete she feels with him. How comfortable she’s felt in his presence since the very start.

He slides two fingers into her, flattening his tongue against her clit and circling over and over. He curls his fingers, groans against her folds, and she feels a second orgasm wash over her on the heels of the first. Her hips snap off of the mattress, but he moves with her, works his mouth over her and drags out her high. She feels weightless, practically boneless, as if her every cell has _melted_.

He eases her down from her high with soft, gentle laps. Her body is trembling and her folds are so, so sensitive, and she whimpers and nudges his forehead. He kisses the inside of her thigh and braces himself over her, gently tugging the blindfold off of her head. She blinks, taking a moment for her vision to blur into focus. His eyes are twinkling in affection as he gazes down at her.

“There’s my girl.”

She laughs softly, grasps his face in her hands and tugs him down for a kiss.

“I hope you know I’m not nearly done with you for tonight,” he tells her, and she lets out a giggle as he dips his head down to kiss her pulse.


	21. Steve/Maria - #5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,600  
>  **for:** otptilltheend  
>  **prompt:** 5\. Teach me something new. I’m ready.

It’s something they don’t do very often, though not for lack of wanting. Their schedules are simply too crazy, too unpredictable, and what little time they manage to steal for themselves is almost always spent in a tangle of limbs, a blur of hot breaths and frantic touches and sweet whispers from underneath the sheets. They both have important roles to play out in the world.

But the ones they find together, in the safe haven of her apartment?

Those are her _favorite_. And oh, is he good at following her lead.

They never really have a plan, never follow some kind of script. Playing a role is second nature to both of them, and yet, this is different. She never feels most like herself than she does with him, even when she slips into another persona.

Like tonight, when she’d come home to find him sitting at her desk chair in the spare room, still dressed from the meeting he and Tony had to attend a few hours earlier. His blazer had been shrugged off and draped over the desk, his tie loosely draped around his neck, the first few buttons of his shirt undone. He was sitting with his ankle resting on the knee of his other leg, a pencil held in his hand and his sketchbook opened in his lap. His forehead had been creased in concentration, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted ever so slightly.

And every nerve in her body had tingled to life.

He’d lifted his head to when he noticed her in the doorway, of course, lips starting to move in a greeting, but she pressed a finger to her lips. And he blinked, eyes darkening in immediate understanding as he nodded once.

And now, here she is, sitting on top of the desk while he sits in his chair and sketches her. Her legs are spread, her Burberry skirt bunched around her waist and her unbuttoned blouse falling off of one shoulder, exposing the burgundy lingerie she’d worn underneath. He’d had her hitch one heeled ankle up on the desk, had her tip her head back just so. She _knows_ she’ll be at least a little sore in the morning from holding this pose, but she hardly notices it right now. Not when her skin feeling this flushed. And definitely not with the slick _ache_ between her legs.

“You doing alright there, Miss Hill?”

She licks her lips, nodding once, her hair falling over her shoulder.

“Because there are other ways we can go about handling your art grade,” he goes on. His voice is _perfect_ : smooth yet firm, patient yet slightly teasing. Like a man who knows how to indulge in what he wants. “Not that I mind you as my muse.”

“What… other ways?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to find out?”

“I just really want to impress you,” she tells him, voice soft, as if admitting a secret. She tilts her head, glances at him from under her eyelashes.

She _swears_ she sees his lips twitch in barely-restrained amusement. Not that she blames him. They may both be reserved, yes, but neither of them have ever been timid people. It should be ridiculous for this to turn her on, except it _does_ , and she can’t quite help it.

“Get off,” he orders, setting his sketchbook aside so he can stand. She slides off of the desk and onto her feet. “Turn around and bend over.”

She follows, bending at her hips and slowly folding herself over the desk. It’s just slightly too short, causing her to bend at an angle, and she slides her hands over the wood and grips the edge of it for support. She glances out the window overlooking the parking lot of her complex, and a side of apartments from the building next door. She realizes it’s very unlikely that someone would be able to look over and make out her face from this distance, or ever make out the two of them in this room, but still. The thought alone makes a shiver roll down her spine.

Then Steve slips his hand between her legs and slides over her clit, making her hips jump.

“You have the perfect curves to your back, Miss Hill.” He’s standing close enough that she can practically feel his legs against the backs of her thighs. But not enough for him to actually touch. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

She shakes her head. “No, sir.”

“That’s unfortunate. Would you mind showing me?”

He’s circling gently, almost lazily, over her clit, over and over, making her mind hazy, and it takes a moment for her to realize the command he’s hidden under his question. She peels herself out of her blouse, tosses it aside. He uses his other hand to sweep her hair over one shoulder, baring her back to him, and he leans over her and presses a kiss just above the band of her bra.

“I could spend hours on the curve of your back and never perfect it,” he murmurs into her skin, then snatches the clasp of her bra between his teeth and snaps it off. It falls from her shoulders, and he spreads a hand over her back and gently pushes her down, making her nipples graze the cold wood.

She bites down a whimper.

“What was that, Miss Hill?” He gently nudges her ankles further apart with his foot before she can even think to respond, dips two fingers inside of her, and she bites down even harder to muffle a mewl. “I don’t think I quite heard you.”

She lets out a shaky breath, rolling her hips back into his hand.

He slides a hand between her body and the desk, cupping one of her breasts and tugging at her nipple. Her forehead drops to the desk, a quite but harsh breath hissing from her lips, and then he’s curling his fingers, pulling back out and sinking a third in, and she lets out a long, low moan.

She can practically _hear_ his smirk. “You’re doing so well, Miss Hill.”

“ _Maria_ ,” she breathes out, voice surprisingly steady.

He pulls his hand away, and her heart skips when she hears him undo the buckle of his belt, letting it clatter to the floor as he unzips his slacks.

“Given our relationship, I don’t know how appropriate that would be,” he says, leaning over her until his chest flushed to her back. She can feel him between her legs, brushing against the inside of her thigh. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but he pushes into her without warning, and she’s so slick that he slides in easily, bottoming out and causing her to toss her head back and moan his name. She curls her fingers over the edge of the desk as he starts thrusting, slow and steady at first, and she’s not sure if it’s to give her time to adjust to how much deeper and fuller everything feels at this angle, or if it’s to _tease_ her, but if she’s being honest? She thinks it’s a little bit of both.

But he doesn’t keep the pace for long. He only lasts a few more thrusts like this before his hips grow more frantic, sinking in deeper and harder and _faster_ , and he grasps her hips with both hands to bring her body to meet his thrusts.

“O- _oh_ , oh, _god_.”

He presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss over the pulse in her neck, suckling gently, and her eyes flutter closed.

“You have no idea how often I draw you, Miss Hill,” he groans out. “How many different times I’ve pictured you. How many different _ways_.”

He hooks a hand behind her leg and bends it, hooking her knee onto the edge of the desk and opening her up wider, sinking in even deeper. She moans a little louder, a little longer, her every thought dissolving into a haze of white-hot pleasure. She can feel her stomach tightening, tightening, her walls fluttering.

“You, bent over this desk, like right now.” He cups one of her breasts again to tug at her nipple, making her mewl as he rolls it between her fingers. “Or you completely bared and spread out, so I can use your perfect skin as my canvas.”

“S-St…” She can’t think straight. She can’t think at all. “ _Sir_.”

“Me sitting at my chair with you above me, riding me, taking your pleasure,” he goes on, reaching between her legs to circle her clit, once, twice, three times. “Your thighs wrapped around my head, not caring that everyone can hear us.”

Then he finds her clit, rubbing it over and over and over, a little harder and a little harder, and she unravels at the seams with a whimper, dissolving into a keening moan as he keeps thrusting, keeps circling over her clit, making her chest squeeze, her lungs burn, her body _writhe_. She flutters around him and jerks her hips back, trying to keep up, but she’s overwhelmed with pleasure.

“Fuck. _Fuck_.”

It only takes a few more thrusts and he’s right there behind her, falling apart with a low groan as he presses his body over hers, peppering wet, sloppy kisses to her back. He’s still circling her clit, but there’s no rhyme or reason.

It takes a long moment for them to start to come back down, and then his forehead drops to her shoulder, his body leaning more against hers, sated.

“You alright, Maria?”

 _God_ , yes. She’s more than alright.

And they’re nowhere near done.

She hooks her hand over the back of his neck, twists her head and brings his lips to hers in a deep kiss. Even with the last tremors still rippling through her body, she feels her sex pulse, her heart thrum. She’s already craving _more_.

“I thought that was inappropriate, _sir?_ ” she asks, one eyebrow raised.

Steve’s lips quirk, and she taps his hips, whimpering ever so slightly as he pulls out. Then she turns around and hitches herself on top of the desk again, tugs open the side drawer he’s commandeered for his art supplies and fumbles for a moment until she grasps onto a few tubes of oil paints and pulls them out.

“There’s something else I’ve had trouble with,” she tells him, holding up the paints for him to see. He smirks. “Maybe you can show me how it’s done?”


	22. Steve/Natasha - #9, 27, 78

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~900  
>  **prompt:** 9\. I want you to watch me + 27. Hair fallen softly across the pillow. + 78. Fuck me like there’s no tomorrow. + Greek Island, early evening  
>  **for:** petronellarose

She’s pretending to still be asleep, and he’s going along with it because, after the last two days, he thinks they need to squeeze in a little rest.

Pepper had been the one to insist that they take the time off. She booked the flights and the villa, and she probably would’ve had their bags packed for them if Natasha hadn’t found out before the woman could surprise them. And Steve hadn’t realized how much they needed it – not just the time off, but the time off _together_ – until Natasha plopped herself onto the living room couch, her limbs spread and her lips tugged into that coy little smile of hers, and it felt as if he every muscle in his body was being drawn to her.

He took his time undressing her, kissing every inch of skin, every curve, every scar, and every sigh that left her lips sounded like _relief_. He can’t remember the last time they didn’t have to rush, trying to make the most of what days or hours in their overlapping scheduled allowed them. Their kisses have been desperate and their touches rushed, and no, he’s got no complaints about it like that.

But still.

He likes it _more_ like this: when they have the time to savor, to cherish, to tease.

He likes getting to take his time, getting to draw out her pleasure, getting to wind her up and let her dance on that fine edge for as long as possible. And he sure as hell loves it when she does the same to him.

“Can’t let a girl sleep, can you?”

Her voice is slurred slightly in sleep, but it’s obvious that she didn’t just wake up. She probably felt him stirring in bed a few minutes ago.

He chuckles softly and she glances over her shoulder to arch an eyebrow at him, lips quirked in a smile. He knows she can feel him with the way they’re pressed together, legs tangled, hips flushed. Not that he’d tried to hide it. It’s natural in the morning, yes, but also, he just fucking _loves_ waking up to her. He loves how warm and pliant and completely relaxed her body is, how her curls are fanned out softly over the pillow, how sensitive she is to his touch and his voice.

And he supposes this is the part where he really _does_ let her try to go back to sleep. The last two days have been a blur of pleasure and blissful ache, and it seemed as if nothing they did ebbed their desire. It was more than just physical. He _missed_ being with her like this, and he craved to drag it out as long as possible, craved to be connected with her in every way.

But, _fuck_. He’s selfish, and he loves his wife.

“We’ll sleep when we’re old,” he says, rolling his hips, grazing his lips over the column of her throat and then smirking when he feels her pulse pick up.

“You’re already old,” she retorts, and he _laughs_ , slides his length against the folds of her sex and groans lowly as a warmth shoots down his spine. His grip tightens on her hips as he rolls and rolls his hips, and she pushes her back even harder into his chest, twisting her fingers into the sheets as she sighs.

 _Fuck,_ he loves how sensitive she is when she wakes up.

He glances over her and feels the pressure tighten at the bottom of his spine as he catches their reflection in the floor mirror propped on the wall. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted ever so slightly, their bodies tangled in the sheets – and there’s that tingle of desire again. That crave to burn her into his memory over and _over_.

He rolls them over before she can quite catch her breath, lifts them onto their knees and pushes into her from behind, slowly, feeling every press and flutter of her folds. She _moans_ , her spine arching, and he winds an arm around her and draws her onto his lap, her back pressing against his chest again, letting him sink in even deeper. They both groan at this, and Natasha tosses her head back against his shoulder, reaching to cup a hand over the back of his neck.

“Open your eyes,” he whispers into her ear. She lets out this little noise from the back of her throat, her thrusts starting to quicken, her breath growing short. He clenches his jaw as she squeezes around him, and _fuck_ , it’s so easy for him to get lost in her that this alone is almost enough to tug him under that blissful haze. He stills her hips, kisses her pulse when she lets out a noise of protest. “Open your eyes, love,” he repeats, circling his thumb over her skin as if in encouragement. “I want you to watch me. Watch _us_.”

His gaze is locked on the mirror, watching as her eyelids flutter open, a hot pulse shooting down his spine as she meets his stare in the reflection.

She smiles, eyelids heavy, cheeks flushed, lips wet.

He’s never going to forget this look. He’ll make damn sure of it.

“As long as we’re making requests,” she says, voice breathy, fingers curling a little tighter in his hair. “I want you to fuck me like there’s no tomorrow.” Her lip tugs at the corners, one eyebrow arching, and, _fuck_. That little smirk of hers is the death of him every single time. “You know that I can handle it, Captain.”

He groans out a laugh. “Yeah, but I don’t think _I_ can.”

She starts to chuckle, but it tapers off as she watches his fingers sliding over her hip, dipping between her legs, and then they’re both moaning as he rubs at her clit.


	23. Steve/Natasha - #15, 34, 46, 47, 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **prompt:** 15\. It wasn’t enough. I want more. + 34. Slip your hand into mine, sweetheart. + 46. Make me come with your words. + 47. I want to be inside you. + 50. Your strong hands belong on me. + royal ‘verse, Natasha’s bedroom, 3am  
>  **for:** swietek93 and two anons

“Remember the last time we were in this bed?”

She wants to laugh, but when she parts her lips, all that comes out is a breathy moan as her spine arches and her hands tug at his hair. He’s pulled his mouth off of her _again_ and she’s starting to lose her mind a little, because he seems content with pushing her toward that dizzying edge without letting her tip over. It feels as if every inch of her skin is scorching, every muscle coiled tight, and she knows that her stiletto heels must be digging into his back hard enough to draw blood.

And, of _course_ she remembers the last time they were in her bed.

It was their _first_ time.

She remembers how overwhelming that night had been. How pathetic she’d felt when he was walking her to her room, brushing off his attempt at conversation because she was too lost in her pitiful realization that he simply _didn’t want her_. She hadn’t been subtle in her attempts to seduce him, and though she could see it in his eyes that he was attracted to her, she realized that he must not be attracted _enough_ to act on it. She realized that he must have been indulging in her little games to keep her happy, and she was mildly horrified with herself for being so starved for a connection that she misread his friendship for a genuine interest in her.

She remembers how her voice shook as she apologized for being so forward with him, remembers how she wasn’t sure if she was upset or pissed at herself for acting like some schoolgirl around him. And then she remembers the way he’d caught her wrist and tugged her back to him and kissed her so hard that she couldn’t _breathe_. She remembers the rushed, murmured confession he’d made against her lips about wanting her from the very start, and wanting her more and more every day. She remembers the way he’d stripped her of her clothes, kissing every inch of bared skin as he laid her on the bed and took his time teasing her, learning her, _savoring her_.

Just as he is tonight.

Oh. _Oh_.

She whimpers, scratching her nails over his scalp. The memory of their first time is almost a palpable touch against her skin, making her tingle, and his lips curve into a smile against the inside of her thigh as he says, “I played with you that night, too.” He nips at her skin. “I tasted you for what felt like _hours_. I was aching, but I was too busy learning your body, too busy relishing in how much better it had been than the many dreams I’d had of you.”

Her walls flutter, her mind hazy, dizzy. “You’ll make me come with your words if you keep talking like that.”

She can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “Isn’t that what you want?” He leans forward, gives a slow, almost tentative lick to her sex, pulling away when she tries to roll her hips into him. “It’s what you wanted last time.”

 _Last time_. Last time, his tongue and the gentlest touch of his fingers had almost been enough to unravel her. Not a single one of her fantasies had compared to the way worked her over, pulling every whimper and whine from her throat. The brief brushes of his hands as he escorted her in and out of rooms and vehicles hadn’t compared to the way it felt when he massaged over her skin, kneading and teasing.

But, now that she knows what he feels like _inside_ of her, she couldn’t possibly be satisfied with just his lips. She knows the pleasure she’ll feel will fade too quickly, replaced with a craving to feel him sink into her as deeply as possible.

“It’s not enough. I want _more_.” Her eyelids feel heavy as they flutter open, a fresh burst of warmth unfurling in her stomach as she takes in the way his lips are glistening in her arousal, the way his hair is rumpled from her scratching and tugging. She wraps her fingers gently around his wrists, sliding his hands up her thighs, over the curve of her hips, until they’re cupping her breasts. “Your strong hands belong _on_ me, and you belong _in_ me.”

His eyes flash, lips quirking.

“Is that what the princess wants?” His tone is half-teasing as he rolls his thumbs over her nipples, giving her a gentle squeeze.

“Yes.” She quirks an eyebrow, reaching between them to grasp at his tie. “We only have the palace to ourselves until dawn, and I want to spend every second of it connected to you in every way.” She tips her lips up to his and kisses him slow and deep. “But, right now, this princess would like to know what _you_ want.”

“I want to be inside you.” He dips his head down, lips latching onto her pulse as he reaches between them, grasping at the buckle of his belt. “I always want to be inside you, love. But getting you on this bed again brought back memories. I wanted to taste you and feel you writhe and come on my tongue like last time.”

Her heart actually _skips_ in her chest.

“I can’t speak from experience,” she says, her voice shaking ever so slightly as her fingers fumble with his tie and the buttons of his shirt. “But I’m fairly certain that feeling me writhe _under_ you and come _around_ you will feel much better.”

“It does,” he says with a chuckle, tossing his belt aside, and she abandons his shirt altogether as she grasps at his waistband and pushes his pants and his briefs down. She swallows lightly, smoothing her hands up his thighs and then digging her nails into his hips, urging them to move against hers. He lowers himself over her again, kisses her forehead as he teases the tip of him over her bundle of nerves, making her body jolt. “Slip your hand into mine, sweetheart.”

She holds his gaze, reaching between them and wrapping her hand with his around his length. He’s practically pulsing against her palm and her heart stutters in her chest. It feels as if he’s aching as much as she is. “You’re…”

“Yeah,” he breathes, lips tugging into a grin. “I felt like this that first time, and every time after.” He dips down, brushing a kiss to her lips. “ _Every damn time_. I’m convinced that I could spend a whole night inside you and still ache.”

She squeezes gently, relishing in the flutter of his eyelashes, the soft hiss of breath that leaves his lips.

“Well, we won’t know until we try, right?”


	24. Steve/Natasha - #5, 55, 90

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,200  
>  **prompt:** 5\. Teasing until you can’t take more. + 55. Hands pinned high above your head. + 90. I want to watch you come. + 40's au  
>  **for:** sassaspazz and swietek93
> 
> and for the anon who was looking forward to that Skinny Steve prompt that I couldn’t get to for the holiday giveaway, here’s a taste of him now. :)

She bites down on her lower lip, trying in vain not to squirm against the cold dollop of paint he drops onto the flat of her stomach. Her eyelashes flutter as she glances up at the ceiling, squinting against the daylight filtering in through the windows. The curtains are drawn wide open, and though chances are slim that someone could just glance into his studio on the third floor, the thought of it alone is enough to make her head spin. She can only imagine what it must look like: completely bare and laying on her back over the sheet he’d spread out on the floor, and Steve still clothed above her, straddling her thighs as he swirls paint into her skin.

 _I want to try something_ , he’s said. _Only if you can handle it, though_.

He knew she wouldn’t say no. Not if he worded it like a challenge as he did. Perhaps her boyfriend knew her a little too well.

Half a year ago, before meeting him, that would’ve been the sign for her to leave. Relationships simply weren’t something she could deal with, and she had a knack for ducking out at the slightest bump, or the inklings of things growing too serious, too quickly. Men hadn’t had a history of treating her kindly.

Not until Steve.

She prides herself on being a good judge of character, and when she had met Steve at the drive-in that Wanda had dragged her to, she knew that his sass and sheer stubbornness had nothing to do with making up for what he lacked in stature. It’s simply who he is, and Natasha had been oddly charmed by it. At the very least, she’d been impressed that he could keep up with her wit. They had spent a good portion of the film not paying attention at all, instead muttering quips back and forth under their breaths, until James had all but chucked his popcorn at them.

Wanda’s smile had been annoyingly irritating yet adorable at the same time when they went out for milkshakes afterward, and Natasha had rolled her eyes and lightly kicked the girl under the table. Wanda had all but dragged Natasha to come, but she had been pleasantly surprised by enjoying Steve’s company.

Months later, and she’s still very much enjoying his company.

Even if he is rather insufferable at times. Just as he is right now, lips tugged in what would be an innocent, charming smile, if not for the twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he draws the paintbrush in broad circles around one of her breasts.

She lets out another hiss of breath, spine arching. Her every muscle is wound tight, her skin flushed, her sex _aching_.

“You know, darling,” he says, tone casual, flicking the soft bristles too quickly over her nipple. “This will work much better if you stop moving.”

There’s a curse on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t quite find her voice right now. _Thirty minutes_ they’ve been at this and she’s very, very close to begging. She’s known that Steve likes to tease. But normally, her hands are free to tease him right back, and neither of their resolves last much longer after that.

Now, however? Now her hands are wrapped with his tie, bound together and held over her head, her arms straining to keep them in place. He’d _bet_ her that she couldn’t last, and as ridiculous as it is that they always bet like children, the smug arch of his eyebrow was something she simply couldn’t back down from.

Her pride is going to be the _death_ of her one day.

He switches brushes, swirls the paint over and over again over her skin, tickling at her ribs, and she squirms. Oh, this is much _worse_.

“Steve,” she hisses ( _whimpers_ ).

“Hold on,” he says suddenly, and it’s kind of fascinating, how his expression can go from smug and teasing to genuinely awed in a single moment. He reaches for the camera he’d set down beside them, angles it at her, and her heart does this skip in her chest at the flutter of clicks that seem to echo through the room. He glances over the lens, a soft smile on his lips. “The light’s perfect, doll. You look so beautiful.” _Click, click, click_. “Don’t know how we’ll choose from these,” he says, and she breathes out a laugh as his camera clicks again.

(They’ll run out of spaces on the wall of his apartment studio at this rate.)

He sets the camera down, picks up another brush and drags it through the still-wet paint on her neck, letting the bristles press against her thrumming pulse.

“You’re close.” It’s not a question, because he _knows_. He knows her body like the back of his hand in a way no man ever has. And he quite simply adores her - her mind, her heart, her body - in a way no one in her life ever could.

She bites down a little harder on her lip as she nods.

He picks up a clean brush, dips it in the bowl of now-melted ice water, stirring slowly as he leans down to kiss her. She’s so sensitive that even the brush of his tongue at the seam of her lips is almost too much, but then she feels the pass of the wet brush between her legs, over her little bundle of nerves, and she gasps against his lips. He slips his tongue against hers, swirls and swirls his brush, until her breathing grows ragged. Then he pulls it away, glides it over the inside of her thigh as a mewl leaves her lips.

“Every canvas pales in comparison to you,” he tells her, sliding the brush through her folds. Her body jolts. She wants to roll her hips, but he’s straddling her thighs, keeping her in place, so she can do nothing but squirm under him.

Then he brushes against her clit once, twice, three times, and her lips part as her orgasm bursts over her, white-hot and consuming. He breaks their kiss to let her moan and gasp for air, nuzzling his face into her cheek and murmuring sweet nonsense into her ear as she rides out her high.

She can’t quite tell how long it takes before she starts to come down. Her body is tingling, buzzing, her mind hazy, but she registers that he’s untied her wrists and brought her arms down, massaging the knots she’ll surely have tomorrow from holding them in place for so long. He kisses her, soft and sweet, and then kisses the bridge of her nose as he slides his fingers through her oversensitive folds before bringing them up to his lips, licking the taste of her.

She glances between them at the colors that are swirled and smudged together on her skin. They’re staining his dress shirt, too, with the way he’s laying over her, but he doesn’t seem to mind it at all. He just gives her a soft, adoring smile, and she wonders if it’s physically possible for her to feel a fresh burst of heat and desire wash over her because of this one expression. She grasps him by his shoulders and rolls them over before he can quite react, straddling his hips as her fingers start to work at the buttons of his stained shirt, her body tingling anew.

“I’d quite like to make a masterpiece of my own,” she says, quirking an eyebrow at him, and his eyes are twinkling as he laughs.

(She slips that paint-stained shirt on later that night, not bothering to close it over her bared skin as she rolls into his chest, sated and tired, and she can feel him smiling as he kisses her forehead and wishes her good night.)


	25. Bruce/Selina - #47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,000  
>  **prompt:** 47\. I want to be inside you. + Paris honeymoon  
>  **for:** luucypevensie

“You know.” She crosses her arms over her chest, leaning on the doorway to the bathroom. “You’re ruining my honeymoon.”

“ _Our_ honeymoon,” he replies easily, not looking up from his novel. She feels her lips tugging at the corners in a smile as she rolls her eyes, knowing very well he’ll still sense the gesture despite not glancing in her direction.

At least this gives her a moment to appreciate the sight of Bruce with his chest bared and his hair rumpled and the sheet drawn low over his hips. She knows he isn’t wearing anything underneath; they landed in Paris yesterday morning and haven’t left their bed ever since. In fact, the only reason she got up at all was to put on something sexy, and _that’s_ because a pretty penny was spent on her lingerie. Though it may have been a waste considering her husband isn’t being very appreciative.

( _Husband_. It’s ridiculous how a single word is enough to make her tingle.)

“Bruce.”

“You look beautiful.”

She rolls her eyes again, leaning off of the doorway and walking toward the bed. “You’re not even _looking_.”

“I don’t have to be to know that you always look beautiful,” he says, turning to the next page. She narrows her eyes ever so slightly, plucking the book from his hands and tossing it over her shoulder and onto the floor. He chuckles, still _stubbornly_ not looking at her even as she eases herself onto his lap.

“I’m sure this will come as a shock to you, Mr. Wayne,” she says, scratching her nails down his chest, “but flattery won’t get you everywhere.”

He hums in acknowledgment, his gaze tracing over her mouth before finally flicking up to her eyes. His lips twitches at the corners. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mrs. Wayne,” he says, and, there’s that tingle again, sliding down her spine as she lets out a breath and presses her lips against his. His hands slide up her thighs, slipping under the hem of her chemise and over her hips, giving them a firm squeeze as she nips at his lower lip. Then he leans away, brushes a kiss to the apple of her cheek and murmurs, “I was reading because I thought you’d might like a break.”

She jerks back, one eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?”

He _smirks_ , holding her gaze. “You were quick to fall asleep last night,” he reminds with another squeeze to her hips. “Were you a little worn out?”

She fights back a smile. Oh, she certainly was. Not that she’s going to give him the satisfaction. “That’s because, husband dearest,” she says with a tilt of her head, “a little boost to your ego meant _I_ wouldn’t have to deal with two weeks of your brooding. A little wedding present for myself.” Reaching down, she wraps her fingers around his wrist and slides it higher until his hand is cupping the sheer lace of her bra. “And _this_ is a little wedding present for you, from your poor, thoughtful wife that you seem content to not give any attention to.”

He rolls his thumb over her nipple, making her shiver delicately, scratching her nails against his chest again. “Trust me, Selina,” he says, his voice low as he meets her gaze, and a warmth shoots through her veins at the desire swirling in his eyes, “I paid attention.” He draws her hips flushed to his, and she feels him hardening through the thin sheet. She bites down on her lower lip, trying in vain to keep from smiling. “But I was a little disappointed you put anything on at all.”

“So you were _pouting?_ ”

“Yes,” he replies without an ounce of apology, and she breathes out a laugh as he rolls them over, the sheet falling out from between them as he slots his hips between her legs. His length brushes against the thin lace of her panties as he leans in, kissing the the teeth marks he’d bitten into her neck last night. “I want to be inside you,” he murmurs into her skin, “today, tonight, tomorrow. For the rest of our honeymoon. And as pretty as this lace is, it’s getting in my way.”

He rolls his hips into hers, and, _fuck_ , that feels so good. It would feel better if it weren’t for the damn lace between them.

(She hates when he’s right.)

He rolls his hips again, and again, and again, a little harder and a little faster each time, and she digs her nails into the muscles of his back as she arches underneath him. The stubborn part of her doesn’t want to cave so quickly. Not when she can feel him smirking against the curve of her neck, his huge hands smoothing under her chemise and over her flushed, sensitive skin. But then she remembers that they’re in Paris on their _honeymoon_ , and she doesn’t care about anything but Bruce and being underneath him and wanting him inside her.

So she threads a hand into his hair, bringing his face to hers, their lips barely an inch apart. He kisses her, soft and gentle, and her heart does this stupid flip in her chest. _God_ , it’s ridiculous, the kind of hold this man has on her.

Even more ridiculous? How much she _loves it_.

“Let’s compromise, darling husband.” She moves her free hand between them to hook under the front of her panties, pulling them aside, and his hard length presses against her wet folds. He groans, low and deep, rolling his hips again and _god,_ that feels _so much better_. “Fuck me in my lingerie. Fuck me in _every_ piece of lingerie I brought, and then I won’t have a single thing to wear for the rest of the trip.”

He chuckles, reaches between them and lines up at her entrance, pressing another lingering kiss to her lips. “We’re still in Paris, you know.” He pushes into her slowly, too slowly, and her lips part in a moan. “Take a stroll down the block and you’ll come back to our room with more pretty lace to wear.”

He presses flushed against her hips, bottoming out, and she doesn’t think she’ll _ever_ get over how perfect it feels when he’s inside her.

“Then fuck me so hard I won’t be able to walk,” she tells him, relishing in the way his chest rumbles in a laugh as he leans down to kiss her.


	26. Steve/Natasha - #31, 43, 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,600  
>  **prompt:** 31\. I’m not your fantasy. I’m reality. + 43. Blissfully sated. Or so she thought. + 47. I want to be inside you. + “Natasha making Steve leave on his stealth suit” + Nat surprising Steve in Wakanda  
>  **for:** two anons

She’s just stepping out of the shower when she hears him come in, and it’s ridiculous, the way her heart does this stupid little flutter in her chest, the way this warmth unfurls in her stomach. She hadn’t told Steve she would be coming back so soon when they’d spoken last week, and it’s _ridiculous_ how much she’s anticipated this moment. How much she’s missed him. They’ve been apart for much longer than three weeks before, but it’s never felt like this.

It’s never felt this _intense_.

She slides a towel quietly off of the rack, drapes it over her shoulders and steps toward the doorway, peering into the suite. She can see his silhouette against the low glow of the moonlight coming in from the windows, and she takes a moment to watch as he unstraps the holster slung over his shoulders and sets his rifle down. She knows that he isn’t wearing his Captain America suit; he has that encased in glass on the other side of his suite, still battered and dirtied and torn from the last time he’d worn it. But the suit he’s wearing right now is almost a replica of the stealth suit he’d worn for SHIELD, and she feels her pulse pick up as her eyes trace down his silhouette.

(She’s always loved him in that suit.)

“You know, soldier,” she says, her voice soft, but practically echoing in the quiet of his suite, and his body stiffens, “you ought to have your locks changed.”

He glances over his shoulder to meet her gaze, and she’s not quite prepared for the dark, stormy look that’s in his eyes. For the intensity of his stare.

She’s wearing nothing but the towel loosely draped over her shoulder, her hair damp and her skin still wet, and his eyes trace down the front of her.

“I’ll be sure to talk to room service,” he quips, and she feels her skin tingle at the sound of his voice as he turns to face her. He crosses the distance between them, lifts his hand as he reaches her and traces his thumb over the scar that she knows is along the underside of her jaw. His eyebrows furrow a little, but she shakes her head, dismissing his worry, and his body eases ever so slightly. “And I’m not a soldier anymore,” he adds, his voice low and gravelly.

Her lips quirk at the corners as she smooths her hands up his chest, tilting her head. “No, certainly not in this uniform.” There’s a star sewn into the texture of his suit, and she traces her fingertips over one of the points, feeling her lips tug at the corners. “Felt a little sentimental, did we?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.

He breathes out a chuckle, his hands slides over her hips, drawing her to his chest. “Well, I know how much you liked my suits.”

“Oh, so this was all for me? How flattering,” she quips. His lips tug into a bit of a grin, but there’s something in his expression that makes her pause as he slides his hands up her back, holding onto her a little tighter. She frowns. “What is it?”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.” She holds his gaze, cupping his cheek, and he lets out another chuckle. “Just… making sure I’m not dreaming, I guess.”

“ _Steve_.” Her throat feels tight, her pulse thrumming.

He shakes his head again, holding her closer, holding her tighter, and her stomach does this stupid little flutter. “It’s nothing,” he repeats, dropping his forehead against her shoulder, his lips grazing her skin. “So much has happened, and having you gone on top of that?” He lets out a breath as he pulls away to meet her gaze. “You know I’m not blaming you. You had to take care of all the loose ends I left, as usual. But… sitting and waiting was starting to drive me crazy, and I guess the fantasy helped.” His lips quirk. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s _not_ ,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, and he nods once because he knows she means it, his expression softening. She stretches up to graze her lips over his, tightening her fingers on the material of his suit. “And I promise, I’m not your fantasy.” She grasps one of his wrists, brings his hand around to cup one of her breasts, and she feels her nipple stiffen under the pad of his thumb. “I’m _reality_ , and I promise, I’m much better than any dream.”

His eyes flash, and then he’s ducking his head and closing his lips around her other breast. She lets out this little sound from the back of her throat, tucking her fingers into his hair (it’s gotten longer, and, _fuck_ , it’s a good look on him). His walks them back into the bathroom, her hips hitting the edge of the counter as his hand kneads at her breast, his lips trailing lower, lower, down the flat of her stomach and over the scar on her hip.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, dropping onto his knees. “I want to be inside you.”

He twists one hand in his hair, her other grasping at the edge of the counter and curling her fingers around it. “Then do it.”

She feels his lips curve against the inside of her thigh as he hooks one of her legs over his shoulder, shaking his head. “No. No, I want this _first_ ,” he says with a low growl, and then his tongue is flat against her slick sex, licking a broad stripe up her center. She _moans_ , her hips rolling, and a warmth shoots through her veins as he groans against her center, digging his fingers into her thigh.

it shouldn’t feel this intense, this fast. It _shouldn’t_.

But, she feels as if her every sense is burning, her every muscle melting under his touch, under his _tongue_. He closes his lips around her clit, sucks gently as he pulls his hand off of her breast and brings it between her legs, sinking two fingers into her. She tips her head back, her moan echoing through the air as his beard scratches against her skin. Even _that_ feels like a little too much right now.

He curls his fingers, curls his fingers, and she feels herself unravel at the seams as her orgasm bursts over her.

“ _Steve_.”

He groans, still lapping at her through her high, and it’s too much, _too much_. She tugs at his hair, pulling him away before he can tip her over that dizzying edge. His eyes flick up to hers, his lips wet and glistening, and she shakes her head. Her demand is caught in her throat, but Steve grins at her because he already knows what she wants. Of course he does. “I know, love,” he murmurs into the skin of her thigh, brushing another kiss there as he eases his fingers out of her sex. “I want to be inside you, too.”

He stands up, slants his lips over hers, and she whimpers at the taste of her on his tongue. He starts to reach for the zipper behind his neck, but she grasps the front of his suit, shaking of her head. “Leave it on,” she says, and his eyes flash, his lips tug into a smirk as he arches an eyebrow at her. She reaches for the front of his pants, her lips curving. “You have your fantasies, I have mine.”

He chuckles, kisses her lips, and it’s _stupid_ how her heart skips a beat.

He lifts her onto the edge of the counter, pushes his pants off of his hips, and she whimpers as he presses the tip of his length against her bundle of nerves. She’s grasps onto him, digs her nails into the muscles of his shoulders, and he presses his face into her neck as he pushes into her. “Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he groans into her skin, one of his hands coming down to grip her hip.

Her lips part, her walls fluttering around his length, and, _oh god_ , he feels so good.

He feels fucking _perfect_.

“ _Nat,_ “ he groans into the curve of her neck, thrusting his hips a little faster and a little harder. His hand slides between them, the pad of his thumb slipping over her bundle of nerves and massaging gently, and her entire body shudders as she curls around him a little tighter, scratching her nails down his back. He nips at her pulse, then sucks it between his lips, angling his hips and brushing against that sweet spot over and over again.

Her second orgasm almost takes her by surprise, making her gasp and toss her head back in a breathy, broken moan of his name. He tightens his circles over her clit as he presses his lips to hers, and her senses are buzzing, her head spinning as he takes her a little harder, a little faster, a little _deeper_.

“ _Fuck_ , Nat,” he groans, thrusting once, twice, three more times, and she whimpers as she feels him come undone inside of her.

Her body sags back against the mirror, its cold touch making her skin tingle as Steve’s body eases over hers. Their breaths are heavy and uneven as they come down from their orgasms, and she tucks her fingers into his hair, gently massaging his scalp as he kisses along the column of her throat.

“I hope you know,” he murmurs against her pulse, kissing her there before pulling back to meet her gaze, “in a minute, we’re doing that again.”

It’s ridiculous, the warmth that unfurls in her stomach. Her body is still buzzing and blissfully sated, but that sparkle in his eyes is enough to make her heart flutter, her skin tingle, and she knows that she’s not nearly done craving him.

She doesn’t think she ever will be.


	27. Steve/Natasha - #13, 30, 57, 133

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,600  
>  **prompt:** 13\. Licking your fingers clean of her. + 30. Come to bed. Fuck me senseless. + 57. The blindfold tightens around your head. + 133. Turn around and wait for me. + royal 'verse + [this gif](http://companyofthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/168793440184)   
> **for:** xo-stardust720, swietek93

He practically rips her out of her dress, dropping it to the floor with a tug of his lips as he sits back on the armchair, and she laughs and shakes her head. She knows she must be grinning like an _idiot_ , but she doesn’t quite care right now. A few hours to herself has been almost impossible to squeeze in with the way her days have been scheduled to the _minute_ , practically. But with her appearance canceled and her flight pushed back due to weather, suddenly she and Steve have an entire morning and a hotel suite for themselves.

So, yes, she thinks she’s allowed to be a little giddy about the change of plans.

“You know,” she says, sliding herself onto his lap as his hands come around to undo the clasp of her bra, “I think my mother may be onto us.”

He pauses, glancing up at her, lips pressed together in a smile he’s trying to fight. “Is that really where your thoughts are right now?” he asks, sliding her bra off and tossing it to the floor with her dress. She laughs and leans in, slanting her lips over his. Okay, she realizes how it might be inappropriate to bring up _her mother_ right now: when she’s in nothing but her panties and straddling his lap, his hard length pressing against her through his dress slacks.

“I’m just saying.” She nips at his lip as his hands come around her hips and grasp at her ass, grinding her against his leg. She moans, tipping her head back. “That might explain why we can’t ever get a second together anymore.”

He wraps his lips around one of her nipples, humming as he gives it a gentle suck. “Or perhaps it’s because your adoring public can’t get enough of you.” She feels him smirk against her breast. “I certainly know _I’ll_ never have my fill.”

She twists her fingers in his hair, tugging his head back to look at her, and he licks his lips.

 _Oh_ , this man is going to be the _death_ of her.

“You shouldn’t talk about your princess like that,” she says, one eyebrow arched, though she knows her expression isn’t as stern as she’s pretending to be. but she couldn’t care less. Not with the way he’s still guiding her hips over his, her arousal soaking through the front of her panties and onto his slacks. “I’m not some object for the people’s pleasure, or for _yours_ , either.”

His eyes flash, and there’s a challenge in the way his lips quirk. But, his tone is one of perfect innocence as he says, “My apologies, Your Highness.”

(And it’s _stupid_ , how completely sexy he sounds whenever he calls her that: with his voice low and gravelly, and maybe just a little bit dangerous.)

“Perhaps I’ll forgive you,” she says, leaning in to graze her lips over the apple of his cheek, and she smiles when she feels his grip tighten on her hips, “if you make amends.” She nips at the underside of his jaw, then licks at her teeth marks, teasing her tongue against his skin. “Come to bed. Fuck me _senseless_. And then maybe I’ll be willing to overlook your presumptuous tongue.”

She slides off of his lap and onto her feet, relishing in the way his eyes trace down her body as she hooks her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and pushes them down her legs. He stands up, grasps her chin with his fingers. “If you would be so kind, Your Highness,” he starts, running his thumb over her lower lip, “I have a small request.” She raises her eyebrows. He leans in and whispers, right into her ear: “Sit on the bed, turn around and wait for me.”

Her heart _skips_ , and she bites down on her lower lip, holding his gaze.

“Very well then,” she says, surprised by how steady her voice comes out as she steps back. She holds his gaze for a moment longer, watching his eyes fall to her lips for a moment, and she licks them, turning around and walking into the bedroom.

Her pulse is thrumming as she lowers herself onto the bed, her back to the doorway as she twists her fingers into the duvet. She can hear him in the other room, can hear the soft rustle of fabric and the clatter of his belt as he starts undressing. She bites her lower lip, imagining the flex of his muscles as he shrugs out of his shirt, imagining her fingers tracing down the V of his hips as he pushes his pants off. She licks her lips, remembering the dark, stormy look in his eyes the other night, when she’d sunken to her knees in front of him in the limo. Remembering the way he’d groaned out her name as she licked the underside of his length, closing her lips around the tip and sucking gently.

Then she sucks in a gasp as she feels something soft being draped over her eyes, Steve’s voice soft and steady as he murmurs, “It’s me, love.” He kisses her hair, tightening the blindfold (probably his tie, based on how silky it feels) around her head and knotting it into place. It’s tight, but not uncomfortable, and it should be ridiculous how _sexy_ she feels right now.

His hand slides over her hips, making her jump, and she tips her head back against his shoulder as his fingers slide between her legs. _Fuck_ , she’s _wet_.

“This still feels like it’s about _your_ pleasure, Mr. Rogers,” she says, her voice breathy and a little shaky as he strokes into her wetness.

He brushes a kiss to her shoulder. “Trust me, Princess. This is all about _you_.” He grasps her arms, gently maneuvering her onto her knees and further toward the center of the mattress, and then the bed dips as he slides underneath her.

She’s not sure if it’s because of the blindfold or if she’s just _that_ sensitive, but it feels as if his touch is burning into her skin. His hand slides over the small of her back, guiding her to lower herself until his lips are grazing her slick folds. It draws a mewl from her lips, and she digs her nails into the duvet, fighting the urge to grind into his mouth.

Then he licks a broad stripe up her center, flicking at her clit, and she throws her head back in a moan. She wishes she could grasp onto a headboard, or anything to stable herself, because she’s certain she’s about to be reduced to a quivering, shaking mess with the way his tongue is lapping at her.

He groans, making her body jolt as she tips her head back in a moan. He flicks at her clit once, twice, three times, then takes it between his lips and sucks.

“S- _Steve_ ,” she breathes, a white-hot tingle sliding down her spine, coiling tighter and tighter in her stomach.

She knows that Steve knows how to make her come in minutes, and with the way they sneak around, they usually need to keep things quick.

But right now, she knows Steve is _teasing_ her, savoring her every little shudder and sigh, drawing out every moan and whimper. Because they can actually take their time right now, and she knows he’s sure as hell going to take advantage of that. It’s just the two of them here, and they have _hours_ to themselves before they have to get ready to fly home, and just the thought of it is enough to make her come undone. They haven’t had this kind of time alone since they’d gone to the cabin over winter, and Steve had fucked every ounce of energy out of her, taking her on every surface, and the cabin had practically been in shambles.

(She can only imagine the state they’ll leave this hotel room in.)

“Oh, _oh_ ,” she moans, her entire body shuddering as she grinds down on his lips. She’s close, _so close_ -

But then Steve eases his lips off of her, digs his fingers into her ass as she bows forward, bracing herself on her forearms. He takes a soft, almost tentative lick, her walls fluttering and tightening, and his groan makes her folds tingle.

“ _Fuck._ ” He flicks at her clit and her body jolts. “You taste perfect, love.”

She’s buzzing, tingling, and she grinds against his mouth, needing _more_. If she took off her blindfold, she knows she’d find him watching her with that twinkle in his eyes, his lips glistening, his expression dazed. But, as much as she loves to watch him, she kind of loves _this_ a little more right now. Her every sense feels heightened, his silk tie cool against her flushed skin.

Then he wraps his lips around her bundle of nerves again, sucking gently as he sinks two fingers into her, thrusting, curling, and she muffles her moan into the duvet. He circles his tongue over her clit again and again, thrusting his fingers a little faster, and she’s _there_ , _right there_ -

“ _Steve_ ,” she whimpers, white-hot pleasure shooting through her veins as her orgasm bursts over her.

He groans, sounding every bit as wrecked as she feels, and he keeps lapping at her as she unravels at the seams. Her hips are jerking and rolling into his tongue, her walls fluttering around his fingers as her body trembles through her high.

She lets out a mewl from the back of her throat as he pulls his fingers from her and gently rolls them over, laying her onto her back. He slides his tie off from around her eyes and she blinks up at him, her vision blurring into focus as he takes his fingers into his mouth. Her heart skips as she watches him lick her slickness off, and this burst of warmth unfurls low in her stomach as she grasps his wrist and pulls his hand away to kiss him, whimpering at the taste of herself on his tongue.

“So,” he says, his voice low and thick, “am I forgiven, Your Highness?”

She smiles, kisses him a little harder, a little deeper. “I’m not sure,” she says as his lips tug into a smirk. “I think your princess needs more convincing.”


	28. Barry/Kara - #70

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,000  
>  **prompt:** 70\. Life is too short. Be naughty. + Valentine's Day  
>  **for:** an anon

“I feel ridiculous.”

Lena laughs over the line as Kara tightens the sash of her coat, glancing over her shoulder. “I’m sure you look hot,” Lena says, and Kara knows that there’s a sincerity underneath the amusement in her tone. Which is sweet, of course, but it certainly doesn’t help Kara feel any more comfortable with the fact that she’s in stilettos and a coat and nothing else as she waits for Barry to come by his office at STAR Labs. “I must admit,” Lena says after a moment, “I’m a little surprised that you actually took my suggestion on this.”

“Lena!” Kara squeaks. “Was I not supposed to?”

The girl laughs again. “Sweetie, take a deep breath before you freak out.”

Too late, Kara thinks, but does as she’s told, glancing over her shoulder at the sound of soft footsteps and muffled voices through the walls, a few hallways down. Barry and Cisco. Oh gosh. She feels her cheeks flush as she tightens her grip on the lapel of her coat. When Barry text her that he had work to catch up on at the Labs, she realized she’d assumed he would be alone.

“Okay, that’s it,” Kara says, hopping off of the desk, “this was a bad idea. I should go.”

“I thought you wanted to surprise Barry?”

“Yeah, but this is - insane. I feel like a crazy person!” She hears Barry and Cisco’s laughter echo through the air as they come closer, and her stomach flutters. Whether it’s in anxiousness or anticipation, she’s not quite sure. “We have dinner reservations in a few hours, so it’s not like I wasn’t going to see him. And he was only running an hour late! I mean, won’t he find it clingy or something that I just show up like this after one little text?”

“Kara, he adores you,” Lena points out, and Kara bites on her lower lip, fighting a grin. “There’s nothing you could do that that man wouldn’t love you for.”

Kara lets out a laugh, shaking her head. Right. She’s just being silly. She -

“Kara?”

She spins around to find Barry and Cisco walking into the room, and she lets out a bit of a squeak, hand pressing over her chest. She knows her coat is completely buttoned-up, her sash pulled as tight as she could manage, but somehow she still feels exposed. “Lena, I’ll text you later,” she says, and she hears her friend laughing as she hands up. Kara blushes. “Hi guys.”

“Hey,” Barry says, smiling widely as he walks around the desk and pulls her into a hug, and that’s already enough to ease some of her nerves. She presses her face into his neck, smiling. “Did I… forget we were meeting here before dinner?”

“No, no,” she reassures, pulling back to meet his gaze.

“Oh.” He blinks, eyebrows furrowing as he glances down at her coat, and, oh gosh. She doesn’t think she can blush any brighter. “Is it cold outside?”

Cisco stifles a laugh, and when Kara looks at him, he’s grinning way too widely as he reaches over and claps a hand against Barry’s shoulder. Barry gives him a strange look. “She wanted to surprise you, man,” he says, then steps away to grab his bag off of the desk, slinging the strap over his shoulder. “We’ll go over the results tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Barry asks.

“Yeah.” He grins at him and then at Kara, and she resists the urge to squirm under his teasing look. “Happy Valentine’s Day, you two.”

“Okay.” Barry chuckles a little, obviously still a bit confused as he turns back to Kara with a smile. Then something crosses his expression, and he lifts a hand to run the backs of his knuckles over her flushed cheeks. “Seriously, Kara, are you sure you’re okay in this thing? You’re practically burning up.”

She laughs as her heart flutters. It’s endlessly endearing, how quick he is to catch on to some things, and yet, this goes entirely over his head.

(She feels a little less ridiculous now.)

“I’m fine, Barry,” she promises, uncrossing her arms so she can untie the sash around her hips. Her pulse is thrumming, but she knows it’s in excitement now rather than nerves, because she feels more comfortable now, more confident. She feels so much more grounded just being with Barry. “I wanted to surprise you,” she says, unbuttoning her coat. He furrows his eyebrows as he watches her, and then she gets the last button undone, grabbing the lapels of her coat and slowly pulling it open, and she giggles the moment he realizes what she’s doing.

“Whoa, okay,” he rushes out with a laugh, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to his chest before she can open her coat even more. She giggles a little more, burrowing her face into his chest. She feels ridiculous, but in the best kind of way. She always does with Barry. “That’s, uh. Quite the surprise.”

She tips her head back to find him grinning, a look of total adoration in his eyes. There’s really no better way to describe it.

“Is it too much?” she asks, though she’s sure she already knows his answer.

“No, it’s - it’s perfect,” he chuckles, cupping her cheek with his hand as he brushes a kiss to the bridge of her nose. “Just when I thought I’d gotten you all figured out, you surprise me all over again. You’re something else, Kara.”

She shrugs her shoulders cutely, grasping the material of his shirt and tugging him back until her hips hit the edge of the table behind her. His lips tug at the corners, one eyebrow quirked, and she hops back onto the table, letting her coat fall open a little bit more. His gaze traces down the front of her, making her skin tingle as she pulls him to stand between her legs.

“You can disable the security cameras, right?”

He jerks his head in a nod. “Sure can.”

She cups a hand over the back of his neck, pulling his lips over hers. “And you’re okay if we ditch our dinner reservation tonight?”

He hums. “Very okay.”

She giggles, holding onto him a little tighter. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Barry.”

He grins. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Kara.”


	29. Bucky/Wanda - #13, 25, 42, 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,700  
>  **prompt:** 13\. Licking your fingers clean of her. + 25. My mind always belongs to you. + 42. Your wish is my command, Sweetheart. + 45. Her pleasure, his for the taking. + Civil War setting + day before Valentine’s Day + [this gif](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/170356214164/hawklint-winterwitch-crap-i-make-red-neon-club)   
> **for:** sleepygrimm, skywaalker, hawklint

She didn’t expect being on the run to feel so _freeing_.

She knows it’s not an ideal situation, and, sooner or later, it’s going to catch up with them. Being an Avenger doesn’t simply _stop_ because they’ve made their mistakes, or because someone decides that they’re not worth trusting anymore. For right now, though, there’s nothing any of them can do except lay low as the dust settles, and Wanda would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the liberty of going into hiding. With her hair dyed lighter and cut shorter, no one seems to recognize her. No one gives her a second glance, or whispers as she walks by, or flinches back in fear, and it’s -

It’s _nice_.

She tosses her head back, swivels her hips as the bass pulses through the air of the club. It’s rather ironic, she thinks, how exhilarating it feels to be under the glow of the red, neon lights, the song vibrating through the air and practically radiating over her skin. Her body feels tingly, her mind hazy with the warm buzz of the alcohol thrumming through her veins. She’s had just enough to drink that it feels _good_ , and whatever nerves she would’ve had about some stranger pulling her to dance on top of a table are completely gone.

She does a twirl, her hair flipping around and falling over her shoulders, and when she opens her eyes, she finds a pair of bright, beautiful blue eyes among the shadowed crowd of faces, making her grin. His lips are parted slightly, his eyebrows furrowed as if in concentration, but she knows better. She knows that if she walked closer, she’d feel his desire radiating off of his thoughts in waves. She’d see his pulse thrumming in his neck, see his eyes clouded over in _want_.

She bites down on her lip, a white-hot warmth shooting through her veins.

She wants him, too. But she wants him to come _here_ and get her.

She wants him to make the first move this time.

So she just tosses her head back again, her hands above her head as she sways to the tantalizing beat of the song. She feels his thoughts drawing her in now, calling for her, and she lets them wrap around her mind as she runs her hands through her hair. His desire is pure and unapologetic, in a way he has only ever been with her, and it makes it that much more thrilling. After all that he’d been through, after _centuries_ of his mind being prodded and rewired and invaded, he _wants_ her to invite herself into his thoughts. He _wants_ her to see inside his head.

And it certainly doesn’t disappoint.

She falters in her spin, a sudden warmth unfurling in her stomach as she sinks into his thoughts too deeply, too quickly. She bites down on her lower lip as his memories pour into her mind, and it takes all she has not to let out a moan. Not that anyone would be able to hear her over the thrum of the song, but still.

He’s remembering their first night in their hotel room in Seoul, their bodies slicked with sweat, her legs wrapped around his hips and her spine arched as he took her against the wall. Their borrowed ( _stolen_ ) truck parked at the edge of some border town in South America, his face between her legs as she had been spread out across the back seat, the windows fogging with her breathy mewls and moans. Their weeks at the cabin safe-house they’d come across in Russia, when he’d made love to her on the carpet by the fireplace, and when he’d sunken into her from behind as she bent over the kitchen counter, and when they’d spent the entire afternoon in the left in the warmth of the sunlight and tangled between the sheets.

She _does_ moan this time, unable to catch herself as she runs her hands down her neck, feeling her pulse quickening, feeling her sex growing slicker and her skin growing warmer. It’s suddenly too hot in this club, the air too thick and the bass too loud, but she’s too caught up in James’s thoughts to stop.

Because now he’s thinking of _tonight_ , her lips parting as she’s seeing herself dancing through his eyes, her skin bathed in the glow of the red lights, her hair falling around her face and her body swaying to a beat she can’t quite discern. She doesn’t just feel James’s desire or arousal. She feels his _awe_. She feels his captivation with her, his fascination, and it draws a whimper from her lips. She’s never felt anything like this before. She’s never felt like she’s being _adored_.

 _James_.

She sucks in a sharp breath as his thoughts shift, and now he’s imagining her pressed against one of the walls of this club, shadowed in their own corner as he spreads his palms over her thighs, sliding them under the hem of her dress and cupping at her wetness. He’s imagining himself ripping her dress off and grabbing a bottle from behind the bar, the cold liquid sliding down her bared skin as he pours it down her chest and laps it up. He’s imagining them in the middle of the dance floor, pressing her back against his chest as he flips the hem of her dress up and tucks his hand into her panties, fingers sliding through her slick sex as she murmurs his name over and over again. He’s torn between having him to herself, and wanting _everyone_ to see how she melts at his touch. He wants everyone to give her the adoration she deserves, but he doesn’t think they deserve her, either. _He_ doesn’t think he deserves her, but oh, he wants to try. He’d live the rest of his life on his knees if it meant he could be with her.

She jumps in surprise as a hand wraps around her calf, and her eyes flutter open to find James staring up at her, the ghosts of a smile tugging at his lips. His eyes are dark and hazy, his eyebrows still furrowed, and she - she -

She needs him. She needs him right now.

She all but throws herself into his arms, not caring if anyone is paying them any attention as she wraps her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck and presses her face into the curve of his neck, sucking his pulse between her teeth. She feels his chest rumble in a low groan, feels how hard he is through the front of his jeans. Every part of her feels sensitive, as if he’d been touching and teasing her all night. That’s how vivid his thoughts had been, how deeply she’d been drawn into his mind, and she knows that had been his intention.

He elbows them out of the club, the crisp night air hitting her skin, and she whimpers, grasping his face with her hands and kissing him, hard and hot and heavy. She doesn’t know how he manages to walk them the few blocks back to the motel with her wrapped around him like this, but she doesn’t _care_.

“ _James_ ,” she whimpers, and he groans, his hands fumbling to shut the door behind them and switch the lock into place.

“I know, doll,” he murmurs against her lips. “Me too.”

He stumbles back until he’s guiding them onto the bed, settling her in his lap with her legs still wrapped around his hips. He tucks a hand into her hair and kisses her harder, deeper, _dirtier_ , and she nips at his lower lip and slides her fingers through his short hair. “ _Yours_ , all yours,” she murmurs against his lips. She knows she’s not nearly coherent enough right now to make sense of her own thoughts, but James nods because he understands her anyway. He always does. He always will.

_I’m yours. My mind. My heart. My pleasure. It’s all yours to take._

He very nearly growls into their kiss, rolling them over and pressing her against the mattress and tugging her panties down her thighs. Normally, he would take his time to undress her, or practically tear her out of her clothes, but he lets her panties catch around her knees as he sinks two fingers of his metal hand into her slick heat. Her spine arches, her walls fluttering, and she’s so wound up that she knows it won’t take long. She can still feel his desire pulsing through her thoughts, and it’s overwhelming, wrapping around her, quickly pushing her toward that dizzying edge.

His fingers curls, brushing against that sweet spot that makes her moan and bow off of the bed. He leans over her, tugs her dress aside with his teeth and latches his lips around one of her nipples, sucking gently. She whimpers, his free hand cupping her other breast and rolling her nipple between his fingers.

He groans, his thoughts growing louder, wilder.

_I love you. I adore you. I am everything because of you._

His thumb comes up to circle her clit, once, twice, three times, and she whimpers as her orgasm starts to wash over her. She squirms underneath him as her fingers twist into the blanket, her every thought dissolving into a white-hot blur of pleasure. She can still feel his fingers working her through her high as her orgasm rolls over her in waves.

He pulls his mouth off of her breast, pressing wet kisses over the curve of her neck, along the underside of her jaw, easing her down from her high.

Then he pulls back, withdrawing his hands from her sex, and she blinks her eyes open as he takes his fingers between his lips to gather her slickness on his tongue. Her eyelashes flutter, her lips parting, and his lips quirk into a little grin as he pulls his fingers from his mouth and lowers it to her lips, letting her taste herself on the cool metal of his fingers as he holds her gaze.

“I’m yours, too, you know,” he tells her after a moment, his voice low and gravelly. “My mind. My _everything_. It belongs to you.”

She nods softly, reaching up and grasping his face with her hands, drawing his lips back down to hers. Their kiss is tender, almost tentative, but it feels _perfect_ and a little overwhelming, but not in the best way possible. She strokes her thumbs over his cheeks, sliding her tongue against his and humming gently.

Then she draws away, glancing up at him from under her long eyelashes.

“Once I’ve caught my breath,” she starts, lips tugging at the corners in a smile, “you’re going to let me adore _you_ this time.”

He chuckles, his breath warm against her skin as he nuzzles his face into her cheek and murmurs, “Your wish is my command, sweetheart.”


	30. Bucky/Maria - #7, 22, 78

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,600  
>  **prompt:** 7\. Face down. Ass up. Cock inside. + 22. How many times will you come? + 78. Fuck me like there’s no tomorrow. + [photo of Cobie Smulders](http://78.media.tumblr.com/ec097c741a1a12f9bbca23fabf7ef318/tumblr_nx3py41T0f1ufiocpo2_500.png)   
> **for:** an anon

“…and, by the way, I know you’re not listening to me.”

Maria blinks, turning her gaze to find Natasha watching her, her eyes twinkling and her lips tugged in a smirk. Maria rolls her eyes, kicking the girl’s shin under the table, and Natasha just laughs and swipes her tablet to the next recruit file. Maria leans back in her seat, letting her gaze slide over the room, and, sure enough, Barnes is still watching her. He’s standing with Steve at the other end of the conference room, not even attempting to be discreet about the fact that he isn’t listening. His attention is solely on _her_ , the intensity of gaze almost a palpable touch on her skin, and her lips twitch at the corners in a smile. She crosses her legs, riding her skirt higher up her thigh, and his shoulders stiffen ever so slightly.

He can see her garter clips. She made sure of it.

“You two might as well be fucking right here,” Natasha says, drumming her nails on the glass conference table. “Trust me, it’s quite sturdy.”

Maria fights a smile as she groans and shakes her head. “You’re absolutely _shameless,_ you know?” Natasha shrugs her shoulders, an unapologetic smile gracing her lips. She’s _ridiculous._ “I’ll be sure to have _you_ explain to Tony why I charged his account to replace the conference room tables,” Maria continues as she shuts her laptop and stands, tucking it into her arm. “And, unlike you and Steve, _I_ happen to respect the boundaries of public spaces.”

“Suit yourself.” Natasha stands, too, falling into step with Maria as they head toward the door. “It’s probably for the best. Super soldiers have a tendency to break things.” Maria chuckles before she can catch herself, and Natasha winks at her as she reaches for Steve’s hand. “Just ask Tony about his coffee table.”

“ _Nat_ ,” Steve says. Nat just blinks up at him, and Steve chuckles as he brushes his lips against hers. “You’re far too comfortable with oversharing.”

“She doesn’t mind.”

“She actually minds quite a bit,” Maria retorts, her expression smoothed into one of nonchalance, even as Bucky’s metal hand grazes the back of her thigh. He’s toying with her garter clip, and her skin tingles under the cold touch of his fingers. If he slid his hand a little higher, he’d find just how wet she is. How wet she’s been _all morning_ under the intensity of his stare. She knew the stockings would make him squirm, but she hadn’t anticipated how it would make _her_ feel.

“ _Sure_ you do,” Natasha drawls, her eyes sparkling as she stretches up and presses her lips to his ear, whispering something that makes him breathe out her name with another shake of his head. She beams, tugging Steve toward the door, and it’s ridiculous how two people can be so sickeningly _cute_.

(And really, _that’s_ a word she thought she’d never use to describe Natasha.)

Steve and Natasha barely make it halfway down the hallway before Bucky grasps her by her hips and all but throws her against the door, slamming it shut as he kisses her. She lets out this little noise from the back of her throat, very nearly dropping her laptop when she reaches for his shirt. _Fuck_ , she’s wanted this _all day_ , and a warmth unfurls low in her stomach and slides through her veins, thrumming, buzzing, making her skin feel flushed. She hears his fingers fumble with the keypad until the locks of the door click into place, and then he’s tucking his hand into her hair, cradling the back of her head as he kisses her a little harder and a little deeper.

Then he pulls back abruptly, making her blink her eyes open, her pulse picking up at the dark haze swirling in his eyes. “Just so you know,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, “I was listening, and I _don’t_ happen to respect public spaces.”

Her lips twitch at the corners. “Color me surprised.”

He hums, nipping at her lip, then kissing her once, twice more. “And I’m certain you don’t care for their boundaries, either.”

“How presumptuous of you,” she replies, and he _smirks_ as he walks them backward, prying her laptop from her arms and sliding it onto the table.

Then he’s kissing her again, spinning them around and her pressing her against the edge of the glass as his hand slips under her dress. He tucks his fingers under the strap of her garter, giving it a tug, and her fingers twist into the front of his shirt, her lips parting as he slips his tongue against hers.

He cups over her sex and her walls flutter, her hips rolling into the palm of his hand, her folds growing slicker, and she curls her fingers around the edge of the table and grips tightly. Her dress suddenly feels too tight, and her skin feels too flushed, and her fingers fumble for the zipper at the side of her dress as she practically yanks it down. The thin straps of it fall from her shoulders and he bunches it around the flat of her stomach, baring her lacy, strapless bra.

He pulls away from their kiss, his eyes flashing as his gaze slides down her torso.

“This is new,” he says, his voice thick.

She smiles as she brings a hand up, cupping one of her breasts. “Do you like it?” she asks, giving herself a squeeze. It’s _nothing_ like the way he touches her - her fingers are too delicate, her touch too soft - but she’s wound up so tightly that even this is enough to make her bite down on her lip to stifle a mewl.

His head jerks in a nod, his fingers tucking under the waistband of her panties and sliding through her folds, and, _oh_. That feels _so good_.

He sinks two fingers into her, curling, and her lips part in a moan.

“You know, the glass behind you overlooks the side courtyard,” he tells her, pressing his lips to her ear as he starts thrusting his fingers a little faster, a little deeper. She grasps onto his arms, digs her nails into the muscles of his biceps. “I’ve wanted to press you against it ever since we walked in. I imagined what it would look like from outside, your perfect skin pressed against the glass, your nails scraping down the window as I took you from behind.”

His thumb passes over her bundle of nerves and her hips jerk, her forehead falling against his shoulder. “ _Fuck_ ,” she mutters, a cold tingle sliding over her skin, her nipples stiffening as if she’s actually being pressed against the glass.

Then he slides the pad of his thumb over her clit again, circling it over and over again, and she bites down on her lower lip so hard that she swears she draws blood. He knows that it takes almost nothing her to come when he zeroes in on her clit like this, but then he’s angling his wrist, sinking his fingers deeper and brushing against that sweet spot that makes her body hum and her head spin.

“O- _oh_ ,” she breathes, pressing her face into the curve of his neck, and she’s so close, she’s _so close_.

“We’ve got half an hour before we meet with the others.” She can practically hear him smirking, and she’d call him an ass for it if she could actually catch her breath. “How many times do you think you’ll come before then?”

She can’t even begin to _think_ of a response. Not like this, and especially not when tightens his circles over her clit, tipping her over that blissful edge. She throws her head back, her spine arching and her hips jerking as her moan echoes through the air. She doesn’t care if anyone can hear her through the door. She doesn’t care if the whole damn building can hear her. And she doesn’t care about the whimper that leaves her lips when he pulls his fingers from her too soon, her orgasm still rippling over her as he works to get her dress off.

Then he’s turning her around, his hand smoothing over her back and gently guiding her to bend over the table, and the cold glass makes her skin tingle. She’d never, ever take the risk of someone watching them, but, _fuck_. If she can’t be pressed against the window, this is definitely a close alternative.

She braces her forearms against the glass, lifts her head and glances over her shoulder, and her gaze meets his as he starts pushing into her from behind. It feels so much deeper at this angle, so much _fuller_ , and she watches his entire expression tug in pleasure as his hips press flushed against hers. He groans and bows forward, his lips brushing against the middle of her spine as he grips her hips and starts to thrust into her.

“Oh, _fuck me_ ,” she breathes, and she’s not entirely sure if it’s a curse or a demand or even a plea. She’s still so sensitive from her orgasm that she’s already starting to tremble as his hips start to quicken ever so slightly. She shakes her head, nails scraping against the glass. “Baby - _too much_.”

“I know, darling, I know,” he says into her skin, kissing her once, twice, three times. “But we still have the meeting.”

“Don’t care,” she says, and she feels his lips curve into a smile. Because he knows what she really means. She doesn’t _care_ about making the others wait. She doesn’t care about their schedule for today, or tomorrow, or whatever the hell they’re supposed to be thinking of. She just wants him inside of her.

He smiles against her spine, draws one of her knees onto the table and sinks into her slower, _deeper_ , and she moans his name.

“I like the way you think, Director.”


	31. Steve/Natasha - #26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,600  
>  **prompt:** 26\. Needing to be deeper inside you. + Steve's apartment, Natasha's birthday + [this photo](http://companyofthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/166193766517)   
> **for:** infinrtywar

She’s not being difficult.

Not _really_ , anyway.

She’s standing in their bathroom in her bra and panties and stockings as she curls her hair, and part of her is still hoping that if she takes her time, Steve will abandon their dinner plans. Not that he’s budged an inch at her attempts at all this week. She’s always been very persuasive, and, _really_ , Steve’s not hard for her to sway. Not unless he’s decided that he wants to be stubborn about it, just as he is right now. She was waiting for him in their bed in _nothing_ at all when he came home, he just chuckled and kissed her forehead and said they had an hour until their reservation so she might want to get dressed soon.

 _Asshole_.

“I can hear your glaring in there,” Steve calls out from down the hallway, his tone colored in amusement.

She rolls her eyes, switching off her curling iron before setting it down. Considering it’s _her birthday_ , you think he would give her a little more say over their plans for tonight, but he’s had this reservation made for at least a week, if not longer. And she appreciates it, obviously. She loves that he wants to surprise her and that he wants to spoil her.

She would just love it a little _more_ if he just wanted to stay home with her.

“Shut it, Rogers,” she calls back as she walks into the bedroom, grabbing the cocktail dress she’d laid out on the bed. It’s low-cut and backless and lacy, and it’s the exact dress he had nearly ripped her out of during Tony’s birthday. They barely made it half an hour into the party before he dragged her into the guest bathroom, making her come undone three times before Pepper found them.

Honestly, if he still wants to go out after seeing her in _this_ , she may be a little hurt.

She zips into her dress, slips on her heels and fastens on her heels as she walks down the hallway. “We’ll be late to our reservation if we don’t leave soon.”

“You’re in quite a rush considering you don’t want to go.”

“Are you going to be this sassy all night?” she asks, stepping into the living room - and then pausing in her stride, her lips parting ever so slightly as Steve turns to face her, his lips spread into that wide, dimpled, _boyish_ smile of his.

He’s dimmed the lights, adorned their glass coffee table with candles and red petals, and, in the center, there’s a crystal vase with roses and twinkling lights woven through the stems. There’s a small cake on the table, a bottle of wine, and a few takeout cartons from her favorite Vietnamese place down the street. She blinks, meeting his gaze, and he chuckles as he steps closer to her. He’s changed, but rather than the suit he’d pulled from his closet, he’s changed into his dark denim jeans and brown leather jacket - a look of his that she’s been _very_ vocal about loving him in - and, _oh_.

He planned this.

“You - ” She shakes her head, trying in vain to fight off a smile as he takes her hands in his. “You _ass_. You never made a reservation.”

“No,” he answers, brushing a kiss to the tops of her knuckles, his eyes twinkling in the low glow of the candlelight. Her heart does this stupid little flutter, and she actually feels her throat tighten. “It’s your _birthday_ , Nat. I know there’s nothing you’d love more than to stay home.” Lips quirking at the corners, he adds, “But I also needed an excuse for you to get yourself all dolled up.”

A laugh bursts from her lips as she pushes lightly at his chest. “You could’ve just _asked_ ,” she points out, smoothing her hands down his chest and splaying her fingers over the dips of his abs. “I know how you are with your fetishes.”

“My way was more fun.” He tucks a hand into her curls, cradling the back of her head as he leans in. Her heart trips in her chest. “Happy birthday, Nat.”

She’s smiling like an idiot and she knows it, but she doesn’t care. Not when he slants his lips over hers and kisses her, soft at first, almost tentative; and then a little harder, his tongue brushing at the seam of her lips, and then slipping into her mouth when she parts it for him. They must have kissed dozens, hundreds, _thousands_ of times, but she still holds her breath at the first brush of his lips against hers. Still gets that flutter in her chest, still feels a tingle of warmth shoot through her veins. She grasps at his jacket, twisting her fingers around the leather as she tugs him close, _closer_. Fuck, she could kiss him for _days_.

“So, do you like your surprise?” he murmurs against her lips, smoothing his hand down the bared skin of her back.

She has a retort on the tip of her tongue, because she always does, but her chest feels tight and her entire body feels flushed and she actually feels a little bit choked up. She doesn’t know how he still manages to surprise her like this. How he understands exactly what to say, what to _do_ , to make her melt in the palm of his hands. _This_ is all she ever wants: him and her, _together_ , with all the time in the world, and he could’ve told her that this was his plan all along. But instead he goes out of his way to make this simple gesture a surprise.

“I _do_ ,” she rasps. “I love it.”

His eyes soften, and he kisses her, soft and slow and sweet, as he gently urges her to step backwards, until her legs hit the cool leather of their armchair. His gaze is heavy, almost a palpable touch against her skin, and she lets out a little sound from the back of her throat as she starts tugging him out of his jacket. It draws a smile to his lips - not a smirk, or a teasing grin, but a bright and brilliant _smile_ \- and he helps her shrug him out of it, then grasps at the hem of his shirt and pulls it off and over his head, tossing it to the floor.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his gaze tracing down the dip of her dress, the way it hugs her curves. She’s smiling as she shakes her head, smoothing her hands over his chest. She might expect his skin to be scarred and rough with all of the fighting, all of the pain he’s endured, but it’s smooth and soft under her touch.

He’s fucking _perfect._

It’s ridiculous.

“I was about to say the same thing,” she says, only half-teasing, and he breathes out a chuckle as he guides her to sit down. He braces one hand on an arm of the chair, leaning over her as his other hand slides along the inside of her thigh, lightly stroking the damp lace of her panties. “ _Steve_.”

“I want to taste you, Nat,” he says, his voice thick and gravelly. “I want to spend all night between your legs.” He presses his fingers a little harder, knowing just how to touch her to make her shiver. “But, _fuck_ , I really want to be inside you.”

She _whimpers._ She really, really wants that too.

She grasps at the buckle of his belt, fingers fumbling to get it undone. He’ll tease her later about being so eager, but she doesn’t care. She just needs them _off_. “You can adore me later. Right now, you need to _make love_ to me.”

She never, ever thought of sex like that - as making love - until Steve. She used to tease him about calling it that, but there’s no better way to describe it. Every inch of her feels intensely, irrevocably _loved_ with his every touch, his every kiss.

He groans, curling forward when she dips into his briefs and wraps her fingers gently around his length.

“We have all night to take our time,” she reminds, pulling him out and stroking him a little faster, spreading his slickness in her palm as she feels her own sex throb against the circling of his fingers. “Don’t you dare hold back, Rogers.”

He low growl rips from his throat as he bats her hands away, pushing up the hem of her dress and all but yanking her panties down her thighs, tossing them to the floor. She looks up at him from under heavy eyelids as he tugs her hips against his, his length brushing through her slick folds, and she bites down on her lower lip as her fingers grasp at the arms of the chair, digging into the leather. He teases her, sliding through her slickness with languid rolls of his hips, and she hooks one of her legs around him and digs the point of her heel into his back as she tries to draw him closer.

She knows what he’s doing. Making them both squirm, making them both a little _crazy_ with anticipation.

Making them both desperate.

“I love you,” he says, and before she can even catch her breath to respond, he pushes into her slowly, thick and hard and pressing against her sensitive, slick folds as she shivers and arches her spine. He groans, and she breathes out a moan of his name as his hips press flushed against hers. She feels full. She feels aching and perfect. She feels _so fucking complete_.

“Deeper,” she gasps, fingers fumbling to reach for him, to tug him closer. “ _Steve_. I need you to be _deeper_.”

He chuckles, grasps her hips and gives them a squeeze. “As you wish. It _is_ your birthday, after all.”


	32. Steve/Natasha - #4, 16, 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,700  
>  **prompt:** 4\. Red trails left behind on skin. + 16. Straddling his hips and grinding down. + 27. Hair fallen softly across the pillow. + [friends with benefits 'verse](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/tagged/fwb-'verse) \+ after a rough mission where they almost lost each other, maybe admitting their feelings   
> **for:** an anon

She doesn’t know if he’s coming, and it shouldn’t make her chest feel as tight as it does right now. It shouldn’t bother her, but she’s past the point where she lies to herself and says that it doesn’t. Because it _does._ She can still hear his voice in her ear even hours later: low, thin, curt. _Pissed_. He’d been pissed, and she hadn’t been in the best mood, either, and they both should’ve known better than to press the argument. Neither of them had yelled, but it almost felt _worse_.

Worse than the bullet that had gone through her shoulder.

It wasn’t fatal, but she knows very well that it could’ve been. Even Nick had been disgruntled with her when she got back to the Facility, and she knows it takes a lot for him to question her choices. But she’s not going to apologize. She saved a life, and she’s healed from bullet before. It wasn’t impulsive.

Steve seems to think otherwise.

She should be pissed at him. She _is_ pissed at him.

But that doesn’t stop her breath from catching when she hears the soft chime of keys, the click of her door being unlocked.

Steve walks in, his head slightly bowed, helmet tucked under his arm, and she feels her stomach flip uneasily at the gash she can see running along the line of his jaw, coming just short of his throat. She’d known it would be there; Clint had included it in the medical debrief he’d submitted en route. But that hadn’t prepared her for actually _seeing_ it. It makes her blood run cold, even as a curl of frustration rolls in her chest. She doesn’t understand why he’d been pissed with her about risking her life when he very clearly does so himself.

( _“You - it’s not the same for me, Nat. You could’ve died.”_

 _“I’ve been doing this my whole life. Just because you have the luxury of playing with your life doesn’t mean I can’t handle mine.”_ )

He shuts the door behind him with a gentle click, glancing up to meet her gaze. She can see her exhaustion, her _guilt_ , reflected in those stormy blue eyes, and it’s _stupid_ that that’s all it takes for her to feel less pissed with him. She pushes her blanket aside, stands from the couch as he sets his helmet on the coffee table.

“I know we’re still mad with each other,” he says, his voice sounding thin and tight, “but can I just - hold you for a minute?”

Under different circumstances, she might’ve laughed at him. Might’ve called him dramatic, teased him for being a sap. But she nods, her eyelashes dotting with tears as she blinks quickly, and his arms come around her and tuck her into his chest. She’s always loved the way he holds her: just tight enough for her to feel safe, to be surrounded by his warmth, to feel his heart beating in his chest. He presses his head into her shoulder, curls around her tighter, breathing her in.

She turns her head, pressing a kiss to the shell of his ear.

“I’m not mad at you,” she murmurs, twisting the leather of his jacket between her fingers. “And you’re not mad of me,” she adds, and she feels his lips curve against her skin, bared by the dip of his shirt falling off of her shoulder.

“I’m not,” he agrees. “I’m _not_.”

“I know.” She slides her hands up, cupping his jaw and stroking her thumb along the gash. It’s already started scabbing, and she knows in two days, he won’t even have a scar. She should be envious, but honestly? It breaks her heart a little. He’s suffered through so much. He doesn’t need the recognition and he doesn’t necessarily want it, but, still. His skin is perfect and smooth, and no one will ever _really_ understand how much he’s been through. They’ll see his strong stature, his unmarred skin, and they’ll talk about how resilient he is. They’ll say he’s lucky. But they won’t understand the scars they can’t see.

She lifts his head up to meet her gaze, her hands shaking. “You can’t die on me, Rogers.” She’d meant for it to come out firm, but instead, it’s a breathy sort of plea. She needs him to understand. She needs him to _promise_. “You _can’t_.”

“Neither can you,” he whispers. “I can take a lot, Natasha, but that - losing you? I know I wouldn’t come back from that. I wouldn’t _want_ to.”

She doesn’t know what to say. Or rather, she doesn’t know what to say _first_ , or how to say it. So she lets out this little mewl and tugs him close, kissing him. It should be gentle, and soft, and tender. They both almost _died_ today, and then they’d argued over the phone, wallowed in their fear and their frustration for a few hours. They should ease themselves into this, but every muscle in her body is itching to touch him, itching to be connected to him. She wants to feel his warmth and his flesh against her hands, against her skin, against her _heart_.

So she kisses him deeply, desperately, all but shoving him down onto the couch, and he wraps his hands around her waist and draws her onto his lap. His fingers tuck into her hair, kissing her harder, heavier, his tongue slipping into her mouth and against hers, and warmth shoots through her veins. He groans from the back of his throat, hand flexing on her hip. She’s not wearing anything underneath his shirt - she never does - and his hand slides under the hem and right between her legs like he _knows_ this.

He slides his fingers through her folds, spreading her wetness as she grinds her hips into his hand.

Then he sinks two fingers into her, and she breaks their kiss as her lips part in a soft moan, her forehead pressing against his. Her heart is thrumming in her chest, her breaths short and uneven as he curls his fingers, brushing against that sweet spot that makes her skin tingle and her stomach coil tighter. Then he brushes his thumb over her clit, circles once, twice, three times, and her spine arches, her fingers clutching at the front of his shirt and twisting it in her grasp.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hand quickening, her walls quivering, but she shakes her head. He peers up at her through heavy lids, and she licks her hips, reaches between them and fumbles with the zipper of his jeans. She holds his gaze as her fingers inside, watches his expression tug in arousal as her fingers wrap around his length, drawing him out and stroking slowly, softly. _Teasingly_. “ _Nat_.”

“I love you,” she breathes, leaning in to kiss his lips, “and I need you _in_ me.”

He blinks once, twice, almost dazed as she presses herself right above his length, and it’s the teasing slide of him through her folds that seems to snap him into focus. His fingers dig into her hips, not enough to hurt, but enough to still her movements, and she actually _whines_.

“You can’t just _say_ that and breeze right over it,” he says, eyebrows furrowed and lips twitching at the corners. She thinks he’s fighting off a smile.

She hums, kisses him again, slower, softer, and murmurs, “ _I love you_.” Sliding her fingers under his shirt, she presses her palms flat against his chest, a grin tugging at her lips. His heart is racing, just like hers. “And I know you love me.”

He _laughs_. “I do. I really fucking do.”

“So _show me_ ,” she tells him, ghosting her lips over his, and then he flexes his fingers at her hips and guides her down. They both moan at the slow slide of his length inside of her, the press of it against her slick folds, and she digs her nails into his muscles, dragging them down as she starts to roll her hips.

She tips her head forward, kissing him again, hungry and messy and shaky.

“I love you,” he mumbles into their kiss. “I love you, I love you.”

He says it like a plea, maybe even a prayer, murmuring it over and over again as if he’s been holding his breath until he could. As if it’s been on the tip of his tongue, if it’s been send dozens and hundreds of times in his head, and now that he’s allowed himself to say it out loud, he’s never going to _stop_.

She knows the feeling.

“ _Steve_ ,” she whimpers, feeling her muscles tightening, her skin flushed and sweaty, her body quivering. Her head is spinning, her senses blurring together in pleasure. She’s not sure how long it takes for her to be on that dizzying edge; seconds, _minutes_. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t _care_. She can feel him deep inside of her with every thrust, his hands tightening, his hips quickening as the pressure inside of her coils and tightens. He’s moaning against her lips - _Nat, Nat, I love you, fuck, I love you Nat_ \- and then his hand slides between them and his thumb circles over her little bundle of nerves and she _keens_.

Her walls flutter around him, tightening, and her head falls forward as she presses her forehead against his. She’s there, she’s _right there_ -

And then he’s kissing her, soft and slow and sweet, his thumb tightening, and she unravels at the seams. Her orgasm bursts over her, rushing through her veins, melting her every muscle, and she actually whimpers as he continues to circle her clit. It’s almost too much, dragging out her high, and then he’s pulling his hand away and grasping her hips tighter, raising his hips to sink in deeper.

He falls apart on the heels of her orgasm, and she grasps his face in her hands and kisses him through it.

She kisses him until her lungs start to burn, until her head starts to spin, and then she pulls back and kisses the bridge of his nose. He moans softly, wraps his arm around her and rolls them over, and she lets out this little mewl of him moving inside her as he lays her on her back, her hair falling over the throw pillow tucked under her head. He gives her a soft, beautiful smile.

“Hey,” he says, eyes sparkling. “I love you.”

She feels like she could laugh, and a little bit like she could cry.

“I love you, too.”


	33. Bruce/Selina - #33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,200  
>  **prompt:** 33\. Eyes up now. Look at me.  
>  **for:** akurotori
> 
> also for this prompt for my kink meme: “Absolutely love batcat and can’t help but think of Selina torturing Bruce a little so 39/ 139/150/171?” (39. Cyber themes + 139. Sexual frustration + 150. Surprises + 171. Well-fucked)

“ _Darling_.”

His shoulders stiffen ever so slightly, far too quickly for anyone else to have caught, and she feels a smirk tug at her lips as he turns around to face her. He has a charming smile in place, but his eyes are darker, a little bit hazy, and she feels a warmth burst through her at the sight of it. He’s always so focused when he’s working, something that’s hard to shake him out of, but she’s learned quite a few tricks: a few little nips to his jaw, a few filthy things whispered into his ear. Or, when she’s in a particularly teasing mood: a few dirty pictures sent to his phone in the middle of his meeting.

She’d taken them in their bed this morning, knowing how much he loves to see her skin against the deep, vibrant red color of their bed sheets, and how much he hated having to leave her there to make his early meeting. It’s not often that she surprises him at work, but it’s the first Sunday morning in _weeks_ that she’s woken up without his lips on her skin, without his weight pressing her into the mattress, and she couldn’t quite shake the need to see him. And she decided it would make her feel a little less ridiculous for _missing_ him like some kind of crushing schoolgirl if she could rile him up a little during his meeting.

“I didn’t know you were coming by,” he says as he reaches her, his voice a little gravelly and tight, the way it gets when he’s trying to keep himself composed.

She hums, trying not to smile too widely as she winds her arms around his neck. She hardly _ever_ catches him off guard, so of course she makes it a point to relish in it whenever she does. She knows he can see the amusement in her eyes, too, and his jaw ticks, no doubt trying to fight off a smirk of his own.

“I wasn’t planning to,” she replies, and his gaze softens a little, catching the meaning underneath.

( _I missed you this morning_.)

He’s got a few folders tucked under one arm, but he wraps his other around her waist, pulling her to his chest and slanting his mouth over hers, and he doesn’t seem to give a damn that practically everyone is watching them as he slips his tongue past her lips. She makes this little noise from the back of her throat, but then he pulls away too quickly, a satisfied smile on his lips as he turns to tell Lucius, “If we’re finished for today, I think I’d like to take my wife to lunch.”

He chuckles. “If you make this little lady wait any longer, I’ll kick you out of the building myself.” Then he turns his smile on Selina, reaching for her hand to kiss the top of her knuckles. “You don’t visit here nearly enough, Mrs. Wayne.”

“Well, Bruce so rarely lets me out of the house these days.”

Bruce’s lips twitch into an amused smirk, but he just shakes his head, giving Lucius one last nod before guiding Selina down the hallway toward his office. He probably should’ve stayed to wrap things up, or at least _acknowledge_ the rest of the board for attending their meeting, but she knows all he has to do is turn that charming smile of his on them and say something sweet about missing his wife and no one would think twice about it.

He leans in as they reach the door to his office, presses a kiss to the shell of her ear before whispering, “You’re in trouble, Cat.”

She almost laughs, except she glances up at him, her voice catching in her throat when she sees his dark, stormy gaze tracing down her face, down the low dip of her sundress. It’s a look she’s seen in his eyes dozens and dozens of times before, but there’s something about seeing it here, in the middle of the hallway, knowing that anyone could be turning to corner, makes a tingle slide down her spine. His eyes flick back up to her face, holding her gaze as he reaches behind her and opens the door to his office, and she lets him grasp her by her arms and practically push her through the door, kicking it shut behind them and clicking the lock into place. His stare is heavy, almost a palpable press against her skin, and suddenly it feels too damn _hot_ in here.

“You…” She presses her hand over her heart, feeling it thrum against her palm. “Right here?” 

Her voice comes out soft, almost nervous, except she’s not at all.

She’s _impatient_.

“Yes, here.” He grasps her hips, his touch gentle despite the fact that he’s turning them around to push her back against the wall right next to the door as he presses his face into her cheek, presses his body over hers. He slides a hand down, under the hem of her dress, and he groans softly from the back of his throat when he finds her sex bare and wet against his fingers. “ _Fuck_.” He parts her folds, sliding through her slickness, and she sucks in a breath.

“I guess you liked the photos,” she breathes, biting down on the inside of her lip when he finds her little bundle of nerves, circling once, twice, three times.

She expects some kind of quip in reply, or maybe just a grunt, but he answers, “I did,” as he dips down into her entrance, sinking two fingers into her without warning. She mewls, her hips rocking against his hand as she lets her head fall forward, her forehead resting against his chest. She grasps onto the material of his blazer, twists it in her fingers. “I think you did, too.”

“Well, you’re always so fun to tease,” she says, her voice voice shaking ever so slightly. She hadn’t realized just how wet she was waiting for him, anticipating his reaction to her pictures, trying to imagine what they did to him, until just now as he pulls his fingers out and wipes some of her wetness on the inside of her thigh.

“No.” He strokes his fingers just barely over her clit, making her tingle. It’s almost embarrassing how well this man knows her, how quickly he can wind her up with just his _fingers_. “No, I think you liked thinking of me opening them,” he tells her. “I think you liked that I wouldn’t be able to resist.” He places a soft little kiss to her hair, presses his fingers a little harder, making a shudder ripple over her. “I think you liked that anyone could’ve looked over and seen them, too.”

She digs her nails harder into his blazer, her hips jerking against his hand. She’ll come in _seconds_ if he keeps touching her clit like this, but her sex feels like it’s aching, and she knows - they _both_ know - that if she falls apart without him inside of her, it won’t be enough.

“Eyes up, Selina,” he says, his voice soft but commanding. “Look at me.”

“Bruce,” she breathes.

“ _Look at me_ ,” he repeats, even gentler this time, almost encouraging, and she draws her head back, leaning her body against the wall so she can lift her head to meet his gaze. His expression is tender, _sweet_ , distracting her from the way his fingers slide back down to her entrance. “I missed you,” he murmurs.

She hates how sappy he makes her feel. “Fuck you,” she breathes out, her heart fluttering as he _laughs_. “I missed you, too.”


	34. Steve/Natasha - #28, 29, 41, 86, 87, 100

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,100  
>  **prompt:** 28\. Get yourself back in this bed. + 29. Kiss me up against the wall. + 41. All I can feel is you. + 86. Watching him thrust himself into you. + 87. Back to bed. You belong here + 100. Friday night was made for fucking.   
> **for:** drunkromanogers, akurotori, and an anon

She can feel his lips on the back of her neck, brushing a soft, teasing kiss to the spot that always, _always_ drives her crazy, and she breathes out his name in a harsh whisper, half-warning, half-whine. He reaches for her, tries to pull her back against his chest, and she lets out a laugh as she rolls herself just out of reach, pushing the covers off of her and pulling herself out of bed.

“ _Nat_ ,” he says, and she glances over her shoulder. _Fuck_. A grown man should not get away with pouting like that.

And she should _not_ find it as cute as she does. Especially when he’s laying on their bed, the covers dragged down to his calves, baring every firm, delicious dip of his muscles. He’d rolled onto his stomach in his attempt to pull her back to him, his cheek half-pressed into the pillow and his hair perfectly mussed from how much she’d tugged on it only an hour ago. His seems is almost lazy, but she catches that twinkle in his eyes. He’s far from done with putting up a fight.

“Come back to bed.” He lifts himself up on his elbow and she bites on the inside of her lip. “You belong here with me.”

She _laughs_. “Just like _you_ belong in bed with me, instead of leaving me cold and all alone during your morning runs?” she asks, pulling open their dresser to grab pair of panties. He chuckles as she turns her gaze on him again, her eyes narrowing. “And the answer is still _no_ , so stop looking at me like that.”

His lips twitch at the corners. “Like what?”

She really, _really_ shouldn’t get any closer to him. Because if she does, she’s going to end up late to dinner. It’s the first time in _weeks_ that they’re all home at the same time, with absolutely nothing already on their schedule, so Pepper had insisted that the girls all go out to dinner. Something that Steve has spent all day attempting to change her mind on, since tonight is the first night in a while that they would’ve had to themselves, too.

And they’ll _still_ have it to themselves, once she gets back.

“Like _that_ ,” she says, and he jut chuckles again, kicks the covers off of his legs as he starts to get up. She feels a warmth flutter in her stomach as she takes a step back. His smile fades a little, his gaze growing hazier, _hungrier_. “Steve.”

He hums, grasps her by her hips and moves to press her against the wall, and she gasps at the cold press of it against her back. He slants his mouth over hers, licking into her parted lips, and she tightens her grip on the lace panties still in her hands as he kisses her. She can already feel where her muscles will be sore in the morning, where the scratch of his fingers will be bruised into her skin, yet somehow she still wants _more_.

“All I can feel is you,” he murmurs against her lips, gripping her hips a little tighter as he kisses the corner of her mouth, the apple of her cheek, the lobe of her ear, as he presses her a little harder against the wall. He squeezes her hips gently, then slips a hand over the curve of her ass, down the back of her thighs as he says, “I can still feel your skin against mine.” He hooks his hand behind the bend of her knee, draws her leg around his waste, and she feels her heart stutter when his hard length presses against her sex. “Your nails digging into my back.” He teases her with a brief kiss, leaning away and fucking _smirking_ at her when she starts to tip her head forward to follow his kiss. “I know all you feel is me, too.”

She bites on the inside of her lip but doesn’t answer. Not that she needs to.

She always feels him for _days_ and he knows it.

“I have to get ready for dinner,“ she says, gaze flicking down to his lips as his tongue darts out to wet them.

“I’ll be quick.”

Her laugh is breathy and broken as he dips down, kissing the pulse in her neck. “No, you won’t.” She feels him smirk against her skin. “You’re a fucking _tease_.”

“Since you’re leaving me, I think _you’re_ the tease tonight.” He slips a hand between her legs, finding her wet sex and stroking his fingers through her folds. A shudder ripples down her spine as she curls into him, digs her nails harder into his biceps. He finds her bundle of nerves and strokes over it in gentle, tight circles as the pleasure tightens low in her stomach. It’s ridiculous how much her body melts at his touch, how easily she always unravels for him.

He dips down, teasing his fingers at her entrance, and her walls flutter in response. He’d been inside her only an hour ago and yet, she already _aches_.

“If you get yourself back in that bed, I promise I’ll be quick.” His voice is lower and tighter now, gravelly with want.

She shakes her head, leaning up to nip at his lower lip when he starts to protest. “Like this, right here,” she says, letting her panties fall from her grip as she winds her arms around his neck, digs her nails into him. “Because if you get me on that bed again, there’s no way I’m getting back out. And then we’ll have a very pissed of table of girls breaking down our front door to drag me away before I could get dressed.”

He smirks a little, kisses the bridge of her nose. “Well, we don’t want that.”

Then he reaches down, hooks her other leg around his hips before bracing one hand against the wall. She slides a hand down his chest, wraps her fingers around his length and squeezing, drawing a groan from deep within his chest. She brings him to her entrance, rubs the tip of him over her clit as he slants his lips over hers in another kiss. He licks into her mouth, rolls into her hand.

Her head falls forward onto his shoulder as she guides him to her entrance, her eyes feeling heavy, but she can’t quite bring herself to close them as he slides into her in one, long stroke. She moans, eyelashes fluttering as he pulls all the way out and thrusts back in, harder and faster. It’s almost captivating, watching the way his muscles flex, the way her wet sex slides around the length of him.

Then he snaps his hips, pushing her a little higher up the wall with the force of it, and she throws her head back and moans as he finds that sweet spot.

She hadn’t realized she even hit her head until his fingers tuck into her hair to rub at her scalp, and there’s a dimpled smile on his face when he looks at him.

“You know, that wouldn’t have happened if we were on the bed,” he tells her, and she can’t quite help the laugh that falls from her lips.


	35. Steve/Natasha - #47, 55, 61, 97

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,800  
>  **prompt:** 47\. Tell me how you’d fuck me. + 55. Sliding my fingers into your mouth. + 61. Give me an orgasm or two. + 97. Do you have secrets to share?  
>  **for:** xo-stardust720 and sleepygrimm
> 
> also inspired by [this photo](http://companyofthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/175405677829), and by a line written by sassaspazz/oceanicspirit in [this drabble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13575561/chapters/31159806) (you’ll know it when you read it)
> 
> part of the [royal 'verse](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/tagged/royal%20'verse) and directly follows-up to [this prompt](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/174852537681/steve-nat-in-the-royal-verse-because-honestly)

She can feel the warmth of morning sunlight against her skin as she blinks her eyes open, squinting against the sudden brightness of the room. She rolls onto her stomach with a soft yawn, stretches out her arms and legs, her lips tugging into a smile as she feels the delicious ache in her muscles. She feels sore down to her _bones_ , practically, and she still feels a little bit like liquid from last night. They had barely made it inside her suite before he’d tugged her dress down her chest and wrapped his lips around her nipple, and she’d found herself bare only moments later, hoisted onto the mini bar in nothing but her lace panties and her heels and her gaudy necklace still draped around her throat.

Steve had left her in her heels and necklace, too, as he wrung every ounce of pleasure from her. It wasn’t until she was sated and already half-asleep that he’d finally stripped them from her, kissing her ear and whispering, “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to see you just like this, _draw_ you just like this.”

She drapes her forearm over her eyes, bites the inside of her lip to try and hide her smile. She’d been too far gone to try to reply to him then, but now?

Oh, she’s _absolutely_ not letting that go.

“That’s quite a dangerous smile to have first thing in the morning, Your Highness.”

She peaks out from under her arm, shading her eyes from the sunlight as Steve walks over from the bathroom. His gaze drags slowly down her body, and her skin tingles as if he’s actually touching her, tracing over her every curve.

“Do you have secrets to share?” she teases, drawing her arm as she sits herself up. He arches an eyebrow at her in question, reaches over to cup her jaw, stroking his thumb down the apple of her cheek. Her smile widens a little more. “Because you confessed something quite interesting last night.”

His forehead creases a little, his expression furrowing in thought for a moment as he tries to remember.

And then he blinks, realization making him breathe out an amused, “ _oh_.”

“Do you really think about drawing me like that?” she asks, and despite the lilt of delight in her voice, she’s not teasing him. Well, not _just_ teasing him. She’s genuinely curious, though she’s almost certain she already knows his answer.

“Of course I do.” He answers without missing a beat, and a warmth quickly unfurls in her stomach, making her skin tingle.

He leans in to kiss her, but she just giggles and draws away, lying back down. He chuckles, except it comes out a little gravelly, shaking with the same heat of desire that she feels, because he knows her, and he knows exactly what she’s about to say: “Well, now’s your chance.”

“ _Nat_.” His eyes are darker now, his stare growing heavier as he swallows. She knows that he wants it, too, that he’s not going to say _no_ , but he also doesn’t say anything else at first and she’s sort of holding her breath in her attempt not to squirm under his stare. “You know,” he says slowly, _finally_ , still holding her gaze as he walks over to their luggage at the foot of their bed, “when I imagine how I’d like to draw you, it’s a little bit different.” He glances away from her to dig in his bag, pulling out his sketchbook and pencil, and then he’s climbing onto the opposite end of the bed and flipping open to a blank page. She starts to lift herself up but he stops her with a shake of his head, and, biting the inside of her lip, she lays back down. “You’re usually much, _much_ wetter.”

A laugh bursts from her. “You could always give me an orgasm or two,” she says with an arch of her eyebrow. “Just to get me going.”

He chuckles and shakes his head again. “You’re much wetter because you’re touching yourself,” he explains, and her breath sort of catches in her throat. “When I think of drawing you, I think of you pleasing yourself, desperate for _me_.” He wraps a hand around her ankle, sliding it away from him to open her legs even wider, and she swears this small, simple gesture is enough to make her wet on its own.

She lets her head tip back against the pillow as she slides a hand down the flat of her stomach, stares up at the ornate painting on the ceiling as her fingers slide over her folds, and the first scratch of his pencil across the paper makes her heart stutter in her chest. She dips down into her wetness, teases right at her entrance for a few breaths before drawing her fingers up to circle her clit.

Her blood is starting to thrum, her breaths growing a little heavier, but she can still hear his pencil as it moves against the paper in erratic strokes. She lifts her head a little to look over at him, taking in the way his forehead is wrinkled a little in concentration, the hard length of him beginning beside his sketchbook that he’s propped on one knee. He glances up from the page, his lips curving into a smile when he catches her watching him.

“Need a little help, princess?”

She circles her clit again, and his chuckle is deep and rumbling as he catches her slight huff of frustration. She knows she’s aroused, and her touch feels _good_ , but it’s not him. Her fingers are too slender, her skin too soft, almost too delicate, and it’s as if her body knows that he’s right there, that he’s supposed to be touching her like this instead.

“Tell me how you’d fuck me,” she orders - _pleads_ \- because she needs more.

She needs _him_.

“You mean, you don’t remember from last night?” he asks, almost taunts, as he drags his pencil in a particularly harsh line across his sketchpad. She bends one knee, opens herself up a little more as she dips her fingers back into her wetness and pushes two of them inside her. She’s slick with her arousal, and the slight brush of her palm against her clit sends a pulse of desire shooting straight down her spine. “You don’t remember how you almost came right on my hand on the mini bar, until I yanked it right out of your grasp?”

She mewls, curling her fingers the way he had, the heel of her hand pressing over her clit as the pad of her fingers find that spot that makes her hips jump off of the mattress. He had been a little rougher with her and it’s one of the things she’s always loved about him; he never treated her like something too precious to touch, like she was always a second away from breaking. So she tries to mimic the harsher curls of his strokes, the snaps of his wrists, and her lips part in a loud moan when another pulse of desire shoots down her spine.

“There you go, love.” His voice is soft, encouraging, but almost startles her because she’d quickly become wrapped up in her pleasure. “You don’t like it when I’m too gentle with you.” His hand grasps her ankle again, pushing her legs wider apart, _wider_ , until she can feel the strain in her muscles from how he’d stretched her like this last night: one leg hooked over his shoulder, her other pinned to the mattress as he thrust into her. “You like to feel me all over.”

She _whimpers_ , letting out a sharp, soft cry as her pleasure climbs. She remembers how much more intense everything had felt last night without the condom between them, remembers her oversensitive folds fluttering and shuddering at every little press and pull of him.

“Touch your clit,” he orders, his voice tighter, hoarser, and she complies, sliding her fingers out despite her sex fluttering in protest. And then she’s rubbing gently over her little bundle of nerves, rubbing in gentle, tight circles just like Steve does, in that way that’s almost unrelenting. Her back arches off of the bed, her free hand grasping at the sheet and twisting it in her grip as her lips part in a long, loud moan. Her body jolts when one of his hands curves over her left hip, like he can’t quite help but put his hand on her as she starts to feel herself unravel.

She strokes over her clit, her sex _aching_ for the long, deep stretch on him inside of her, for how perfect it feels when they’re connected, and it’s the memory of him spilling inside of her for the first time last night that sends her over the edge.

She cries out, her hand starting to fall away, but he snatches her wrist and moves his hand to cup over hers, their fingers continue to slide over her slick folds. Her body shudders as she tries to twist away from the touch because it’s almost too much, but he knows she wants it, knows she can handle it, so he continues working their fingers over her as she rides out the waves of her high. She feels the bed dip as Steve moves over her, the warm, solid weight pressing her into the mattress as he slants his mouth over hers in a kiss. He guides her hand back down to her entrance, dipping her fingers through the wetness of her orgasm before drawing her hand up, sliding her fingers into his mouth and sucking.

Her eyelashes flutter open, her vision blurry at the edges as she meets his gaze. He pulls her hand away, licks his lips. She swallows lightly, mewling.

“Pretty sure I’ll have no problem drawing that from my memory,” he says, then dips down to press his lips to hers, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

But she can feel the hard length of him pressing against her hip, and she reaches up to gently push at his shoulders. He automatically complies, drawing away just a little, and she knows he catches the glint of intent in her eyes as she pushes at him again, urging him to roll over. He hooks an arm around her hips as he does, drawing her to straddle his chest as he lays back against the bed, and she reaches behind her to grab his sketchpad and his pencil.

She lays the pad over his chest, biting on her lip as she takes in his sketch. It’s mostly an outline of her, but even with the rough strokes of his pencils, she can tell just how erotic her pose is, can see that her legs are bent wide and she’s arching her back in pleasure. She doesn’t just look beautiful.

She looks _captivating_.

“I think this should be my birthday present,” she says, leaning down to kiss him gently on his lips. Her voice is light, almost teasing, but she knows he can see the tears starting to gather in her eyes, can see the subtle quiver of her body.

“I think I’d be exiled if your parents ever came across it,” he teases, and she laughs a little as he wipes at the corner of her eye with his thumb.

“But you’d risk it just for me, wouldn’t you?”

He gazes up at her with such awe, such _adoration_ , that it makes her _ache_.

“For you, I’d risk everything.”


	36. Bucky/Wanda - #1, 88, 94, 96

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,400  
>  **prompt:** 1\. Naughty girls are always worth it. + 88. Wake me up with your kisses. + 94. Seeing the bite marks hours later. + 96. I will have you for breakfast.  
>  **for:** sleepygrimm and an anon
> 
> also for this prompt from shurris: "for the six words meme winterwitch/roadtrip au where they are best friends, and a roadtrip is a dream of wanda, and bucky surprised her with it, but on the way they discover their feelings for each other […] and 15" for round iii of the six sexy words meme (15. It wasn’t enough. I want more.)
> 
> also a little inspired by [this post](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/107453141089658406/)
> 
> part of the [suburb 'verse](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/tagged/suburb%20'verse) (aka: Sarah 'verse!) because I imagine that after Bucky moves back to Brooklyn, he gets a job [as a bartender](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/153219478711/the-most-wonderful-time-of-the-year-day-sixteen) and meets Wanda without realizing she’s Sarah’s babysitter, and then he shows up to Steve’s the next day to “officially” meet her.

“ _Doll_.”

His hand curves over her hip, his palm pressing against the flat as his lips brush against the curve of shoulder, the back of her neck, the slope of her spine. She bites on the inside of her lip, the haze of her sleep quickly fading with every little kiss her places on her skin. His body is warm and firm as it’s curved around her from behind, and he skims his hand up her side, brushing the same spot on her rib that he’d found last night, when he’d laid her down over the hood of his truck. She hadn’t expected it to start pouring just as they were about to run out of gas half a mile from the hotel, and she _absolutely_ hadn’t expected him to kiss her the way he did: with a low groan in his chest and his hands shaking just a little, like he was _relieved_.

He slides his lips up, places a soft, lingering kiss to her neck. She feels a little bit like she’s holding her breath, though she’s not quite sure why.

“Doll,” he says again, gently rolling her onto her back, and she blinks her eyes open to meet his gaze. He gives her that twinkling, dimpled smile of his as he reaches up to brush her hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear, and she feels her stomach flutter. “How can you just wake up looking this beautiful?”

“James,” she breathes out with a laugh, feeling her cheeks flush.

His thumb rubs that same spot on her rib in a slow, soothing circle, like he knows she needs it. “I can see those wheels turning,” he says, his tone just a little bit teasing, and she rubs her lips together as she nods. “Are you freaking out about us?” He doesn’t sound nervous, not even a little; just patient, and genuinely concerned, and she exhales slowly as she nods. “Do you regret it?”

“ _No_.” She practically blurts the word out, and his smile widens ever so slightly at the edges. “I don’t at all, James. I…” _I loved last night_. She licks her lips, sort of terrified to think that he can see the words in her eyes. He can always read her every thought, her every emotion, and sometimes it still catches her off guard like it had the night they met. “I’m just wondering what comes next.”

He hums, leaning down to kiss her lips once, twice, three times, teasing his tongue against hers for a second, then drawing away. She’s always felt a little different with him - felt a little _more_ \- but she hadn’t realized quite how much until last night. His every touch makes her feel content and exhilarated at the same time, makes her feel safe and maybe a little reckless, too.

“What comes next,” he says, sliding his hand down up, making her suck in a breath as he cups her breast and gently rolls his thumb over her nipple, “is that I’ll make you breakfast, and then I’ll have _you_ for breakfast.” She makes a little sound from the back of her throat, her eyelashes fluttering. His lips quirk at the corners. “Unless you had enough of me last night.”

“No,” she breathes out, pressing her palms flat against his abs, feeling his muscles flex under her fingertips. “It wasn’t enough. I want _more_.”

“Greedy little girl,” he whispers as he rolls his hips against hers, the hard length of him sliding against her folds, which are already slick, already fluttering to feel him inside of her again. He moves slowly, _teasingly_ slow, just as he’d done last night when he’d bent over her over the hood of his truck. His muscles had been taut with restraint as he thrust in and out of her in teasing, erratic strokes, as if wasn’t pouring rain on them, as if they weren’t pulled over on the side of a road.

As if they had all the time in the world.

She blinks up to find him watching her, his eyes bright with that same look of overwhelming _relief_ that had been there last night.

She reaches between them, wraps her fingers around his length and relishes in the rumbling groan that comes from his chest as he continues rolling his hips slowly into her hand. “How long have you wanted this?” she asks, because she can’t quite help herself. She thinks she already knows his answer, but she still wants to hear him say it.

“Since the night we met,” he answers, his voice a little tight as she squeezes him gently. “You looked so fucking beautiful.”

She feels _giddy_. “I was drunk and crying,” she reminds, stroking up to his tip and rubbing her thumb over the wetness she finds there.

“Yeah, and you still looked beautiful.” He gently bats her hand away, and her heart skips when he rubs over her little bundle of nerves, teasing her with slow circles for a moment, until her breath is stuttering and shaky. He’s holding her gaze, captivated with every flutter of her eyelashes, and she can’t quite help herself: she brings her hand up and licks the salty taste of him from her thumb. “ _Fuck_.” His eyes grow darker, hazier. “Fucking _naughty girl_. You can’t be real.”

She slides her hands up his back, digs her nails into his muscles. There’s a teasing remark on the tip of her tongue, but the sight of his neck distracts her. She only vaguely remembers biting him last night when he’d found that spot inside of her that had her crying out, but _seeing_ the indents of her teeth along his throat makes her feel flushed.

“You…” she starts, touching the tips of her fingers to a particularly harsh mark right next to his pulse, and she’s not quite sure if she feels amused or a little mortified by herself. She doesn’t really have a chance to figure it out, though, because then James is pushing into her in one long, smooth stroke, making her gasp a little as her back arches off of the bed. She scratches her nails down his back as he starts moving, and despite his slow teasing just moments before, his thrusts find a quick, almost bruising rhythm. She bites down on her lower lip to stifle her cry, but his thumb comes up and gently parts her mouth open, her moan echoing through the small space of their motel room. “ _James_.”

“Don’t hold back with me, doll,” he says - _pleads_. “I fucking love how lost you got in your pleasure last night, and I especially loved that it was because of _me._ ” He angles his hips, stretching her legs a little wider apart as he thrusts in deeper, pulling a sharp cry from her throat. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

She nods, digs her nails in a little harder. “Me too,” she breathes.

“You have no idea how hard it was to be around you and not touch you.” He kisses her before she can even draw a breath to tell him that it was the same for her. That it was delicious _torture_ to sit next to him in Steve’s living room, to pretend like she didn’t want more than just their friendship, especially with Nat and Steve touching and kissing each other so openly. At first Wanda thought that had been the reason she felt this pull towards James, and the freshness of her break-up had made her hesitant, almost doubtful of herself, but she should’ve trusted what she felt for James. She should’ve known it was more.

“I’m sorry for taking so long,” she whispers, rolling her hips with his, feeling the pleasure quickly coiling and tightening in her stomach.

“Don’t be, doll.” He slips a hand between them, his thumb finding her slick bundle of nerves, and her body jolts at the sudden burst of heat from his touch. “I’d do it all over again if it means having you this open with me, this _greedy_.” He pulls his hand off of her for a moment, just long enough to press his thumb against her bottom lip, and she parts her mouth for him, sucks her wetness off of his skin. Then he draws his hand away, finds her clit again as his thrusts grow a little harder, a little more erratic. “I’d wait forever if it means knowing you’re certain about this, about _us_ , so much so that you let our first time be on the hood of my truck on this road in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

She bites on the inside of her lip, slides her hands to his chest and places them over his heart. “That’s what made it worth it, huh?”

He _laughs_ , dips down to kiss her. “Of course. Naughty girls are _always_ worth it.”


	37. Bruce/Selina - #2, 7, 16, 22, 47, 56, 73, 76

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,800  
>  **prompt:** 2\. Pulling him down by his tie. + 7. I thought of you all day. + 16. Her frustration grows. His passion intensifies. + 22. Show me how to please you. + 47. Tell me how you’d fuck me. + 56. Holding her roughly while kissing softly. + 73. Watching in the mirror while fucking. + 76. When his eyes close in pleasure.  
>  **for:** floydianslip76 and an anon
> 
> also inspired by [this gif](https://sexyhappychic.tumblr.com/post/175600614658)

“You know,” he says, and she glances up from her phone as Bruce steps through the doorway, exasperation tugging at his lips, but his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I don’t know whether to find it irritating or impressing how often you hack yourself through our security.”

“We both know I’ve gotten through far more impressive systems,” she replies as she slides herself off of the corner of his desk and onto her feet.

He chuckles distractedly, his glance flicking down to her lips as he kicks the door shut behind him, the lock clicking into place. His gaze slides down the dip of her dress, pausing at the tease of lace just underneath the neckline, before dipping even lower to trace the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips. She bites on the inside of her lip, feeling warm, feeling tingling and flushed as if his stare is a palpable press of those warm, calloused hands over her skin. After so many years of playing pretend, of trying to fight the daunting magnitude of their pull toward each other, she relishes in how openly he stares at her. How adoring, yet incredibly _hungry_ his gaze turns at just the sight of her.

His eyes slide all the way down to the sleek, black stilettos strapped to her ankles, his lips twitching at the corners.

“New shoes?” he asks, in a way that sounds more like a taunting observation rather than an actual question. He steps forward, crosses the distance to her in a few easy strides, and she bites the inside of her lip as he bends to crouch down in front of her, one of his large hands wrapping around the curve of her calf. She braces a hand on his desk behind her, leaning against the edge of it. She should be embarrassed by how _instantly_ this man’s touch affects her, but _fuck_.

She’s allowed to be turned on by her husband.

(The fact that all he has to do is glance up her dress to find her bare and wet and ready for him makes her feel less like a schoolgirl with a crush.)

“They’re nice,” he says as if he actually gives a damn about her shoes. As if _she_ gives a damn about them when he’s kneading down the back of her calf.

“I think _this_ is much nicer,” she says, and his eyes flick up to meet hers, one eyebrow arched in a question. “I quite like seeing you down there.”

He breathes out a chuckle, sinking onto his knees as he kisses the top of her thigh. She reaches down to cup is face with both hands, tilting his eyes up to meet hers. He slides his hand back up her leg, squeezing behind her knee, and she bites on the inside of her lip. “I thought of you all day,” he tells her, pushing the hem of her dress up a little higher and kissing the skin that he exposed. “Maybe it has something to do with all of the pictures you sent, showing me how to please you,” he murmurs against her thigh. “And all of the voicemails you left, telling me how you’d fuck me.”

She fights off a shiver as she tips her head back, feeling him push her dress up higher, until it’s almost entirely pushed up to her hips.

Then he groans softly into her skin, no doubt in realization that she isn’t wearing panties.

“I think you should visit me at the office more often,” he whispers, hooking one of her legs over his shoulder. He kisses up the inside of her thigh, his breath warm against her sex, and this time she can’t resist the shudder that rolls down her spine. There’s a tease on the tip of her tongue, but of course he knows her. Of _course_ he does. “So I guess I should make it worth your while.”

“I think you should,” she breathes, and then he’s flattening his tongue against her in a long lick, and she pushes her fingers into his hair, twisting it in her grip. He moans against her folds as he laps at her, and she leans forward, blinks her eyelids open to find him peering up at her, his eyes glassy and hazed over. He’s never said as much, but she knows that he loves watching her, loves how she arches and purrs for him, how she completely unravels.

He licks up one side of her clit, teasing at the little bundle of nerves but never quite touching it, and then slides his tongue back down to lick at her entrance. She leans herself against the desk a little more, her leg quivering. She knows she won’t be able to keep herself upright on her thin stiletto for much longer - not when he can so quickly and easily pull her apart like this - but she’s not worried by it at all.

Bruce will catch her if she needs him to. He always does.

“O- _oh_ ,” she moans, losing herself in the scratch of his stubble against her thigh, the firm, teasing swipes of his tongue. He thrusts into her once, twice, three times, making her walls flutter, before licking up her slit again. She scratches her nails against his scalp, digging in harder than she probably should, but he just groans in response and closes his lips around her, sucking harder.

She tightens her grip on his hair, tugging and _tugging_ as he rolls his tongue over her folds and up to her clit in one, quick stroke, increasing the pressure with every lick. The heat coils tighter in her stomach, her eyelids practically closed despite the fact that she wants to keep watching the way his head moves under her dress with his every lick, the way his eyelids close in pleasure as he pulls a mewl from her lips.

She’s close, almost embarrassingly so, but she doesn’t care. She _doesn’t care_.

Her knee quivers, her leg nearly bucking under her when he slips his tongue into her again, deeper than before. But of course he anticipates it, wrapping his arms around her waist and hoisting her onto the desk in an easy maneuver.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she breathes, pulling him down by his tie as she lays back against the cool, smooth surface of his desk, her legs falling open again. She’s wet, almost twitching with how close he’d brought her to her release, but she really, really wants to kiss him, so she does. He folds himself over her, slotting between her knees at the edge of the desk as she slips her tongue against his.

But he presses his lips firmly against hers, slowing them down as his hands slide over her hips. He squeezes her in his grip, holding her roughly while kissing her softly, and it’s sort of driving her _crazy._ He’s forcing himself to be gentle, knowing how much wilder she wants to be, how much rougher she likes it when she’s close. He’s _teasing_ her simply because he can, because he knows her body and her pleasure so well, and she should love it as much as she does.

He presses her a little harder against the desk when she tries to roll her hips up against his, pinning her in place as he eases his lips off of hers, kissing the corner of her mouth, the apple of her cheek, the skin just next to her ear, then dipping down the column of her threat. She exhales shakily, twisting her head as he sucks at her skin, and she catches sight of a mirror on the wall to the right of his desk. A fresh burst of heat unfurls at the base of her spine at the sight of his large, broad torso pressing her into the desk in the reflection, her dress hitched around her hips and her ankles hooked behind the his thighs.

And then her heart _skips_ when he reaches between them, his hands disappearing from sight as she feels his fingers fumble with the buckle of his belt, tug down the zipper of his slacks. He angles his hips away a little, and she’s almost transfixed with their reflection as he pulls himself from his slacks and strokes, once, as he pushes her leg wider apart.

He skims up to her ear, nips at the lobe as he presses at her entrance.

“Now you know why I love watching you,” he whispers, and she’s not at all surprised to have been caught watching. “It’s captivating, isn’t it?”

She bites on the inside of her lip, her eyelashes fluttering as she nods. He kisses the corner of her mouth as he glances out of the corner of his eye to catch her stare in the mirror, and she swears her heart stops for a moment.

Then he pushes into her, slowly, as if making sure she can feel every single inch of him rubbing inside her. Her lips part, her eyelids falling closed as her head falls back against the desk, but then he’s bracing himself with one hand on the desk, using the other to turn her back towards the mirror.

“Open your eyes, love,” he whispers as he starts to move, finding a deep, slow rhythm. She’s practically vibrating with pleasure, the fading tingles from his tongue pushing her toward the edge quickly building back up. She shakes her head, nails scratching down his dress shirt, trying to twist it in her grip, but she can’t quite concentrate on _anything_ with his teasing, almost torturous pace.

He reaches behind to grasp her ankle, hitching her leg up higher as he sinks in even deeper, and her spine arches off of the desk.

“Watch in the mirror while I fuck you,” he says, his voice somehow firm yet gentle at the same time. He draws all the way back, until just the tip of him is still inside, her walls aching at the emptiness, and he stills his hips.

She lets out a shaky breath, blinking her eyes open to meet his gaze in their reflection again. His eyes are dark with arousal, but bright with adoration, with _love_ , and she doesn’t quite remember how to _breathe_. She doesn’t know how he can turn her playful teasing into something bigger, more intense. She had simply meant to rile him up when she sent those pictures, meant for him to feel frustrated and hungry for her when she showed up, maybe a little pissed off by her playing these games with him at work, but instead he worships her with his every touch.

Despite his words, she knows he never just _fucks_ her.

He _makes love_ to her. He makes her feel so entirely adored that she feels seconds away from bursting.

He pulls out and snaps his hips, sinking back into her, and her body arches off of the desk as she struggles not to close her eyes at how deep he is, at how he stretches her. His wedding band glints in the reflection as he cups her cheek, and her skin tingles where it brushes against her.

“I love you,” she breathes.

His thumb swipes up to catch a tear at the corner of her eye. “I love you, too.” Then he kisses the corner of her mouth, turning his head to meet her gaze in the reflection. “And I want you to watch while I show you just how much I do.”


	38. Steve/Natasha - #2, 4, 5, 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~2,200  
>  **prompt:** 2\. Pulling him down by his tie. + 4. Make sure you leave a mark. + 5. Fingernails scratching deeply down his back. + 10. I want you to mark me.  
>  **for:** sleepygrimm
> 
> also for the anon from forever ago that requested [Jealous Steve](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/173440133136/alright-not-necessarily-a-fix-it-but-maybe-an)
> 
> takes place after that scene in Infinity War and is in the same timeline as ["Here, Between the Lights"](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/175103031611/fic-here-between-the-lights) in which Steve and Nat are married

“I saw that, Rogers.”

She watches his shoulders stiffen ever so slightly as she falls into step beside him, keeping his gaze trained on the tablet in his hand as he swipes through files. “Saw what?” he asks, and she doesn’t know why something sharp tugs at her chest when he doesn’t call her _Mrs. Rogers_ in a teasing quip.

Not for the first time since she slid it off is she aware of her ring no longer on her finger, but now, with Steve’s jaw ticking in something that feels incredibly close to _annoyance_ , the absence of it feels far more apparent. The fact that she knows she won’t find his on under his gloves only makes that sharp, odd sensation tug at her again, which is ridiculous. It had  been a mutual, logical  decision neither of them had batted an eye at, and she knows both of their rings are tucked safely inside the hidden compartments of their suits. But still.

“He’s our friend,” she points out. She’s not quite sure why she feels a little upset right now, and that’s probably what’s pissing her off most. He hums in acknowledgment, nodding once. She licks her lips, feeling something akin to helpless as she reaches out to touch his forearm, pausing their quick stride. “He deserved a warmer welcome,” she says, and his eyes finally flick up to meet her gaze. Then, her voice even softer: “I don’t like you being mad at me.”

His expression softens as he tilts his head, leaning in closer. “I’m not, Nat.”

“I know,” she says, because she does. If he was upset with her, he wouldn’t try to hide it. He trusts her far too much to do that to her. “But you _are_ upset.”

He exhales a sharp breath, almost a laugh, and shakes his head. For a moment she thinks he’s going to brush it off, promise to talk about it later. The thing is? Part of her is terrified there really won’t be a _later_ , and she doesn’t want to just leave it like this. So she reaches up and pushes her hand into his hair, gently massaging her fingers against his scalp, and he exhales again as he leans into her touch. “Not for any good reason,” he admits. “We don’t have time for unnecessary jealousy.”

She swallows lightly, and he wraps his fingers gently around her wrist, pulls her hand to his lips to brush a kiss to her palm. “Is this about Bruce?” she asks.

“A little. Mostly it’s just me being an ass.” His lips twitch at the corners as he shakes his head. “There’s no one I trust more in this world than you, Nat,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. She knows this - thinks that maybe she’s always known this, no matter how hard she tried not to dwell on it, let it complicate this, _them_ \- but she still gets a warm, flutter of relief in her chest when he tells her. “I don’t like that _that_ was my first reaction to seeing Bruce. I’m relieved he’s alive. I’m relieved he’s home.” He swallows tightly and shakes his head, glancing away, but she grasps his chin and brings his gaze back to hers. “And I really don’t like that I felt even an ounce of hesitance in you, in _us_ , just because he’s here.”

“I know you don’t doubt me,” she says quickly, quietly, because it’s important to her that he hears her say it. She stretches up, brushes her lips against his in a feather-light touch that’s not quite a kiss, but that makes her tingle all the same.

“ _Nat_.” His voice is tight and gravelly, but he doesn’t try to pull away.

“I want your hands on me,” she whispers, already pushing him back into the open door behind him, leading into one of the debriefing rooms of the Facility. The tablet falls from his hand as he grasps onto her hips, hitting the floor in a loud, harsh crack, but neither of them even flinch, neither of them even dares to break their gaze. “I want you to mark me.”

His hands reach between them to fumble with the straps of her vest, even as he protests with, “The others need us. We don’t have time.”

“Your _wife_ needs you more.” Her voice cracks on the word a little as she reaches for him, pulling him down by the straps of his suit, and he groans softly as his mouth slants over hers. She doesn’t have to chance say what she wants to next - that they may not _have_ time if they wait - but she knows she doesn’t need to. He can hear it in the soft whimpers that aren’t quite muffled by their kiss, can feel it in the way her hands are shaking as she pushes the straps of his suit off of his shoulder.

He slips his hand up the bared flat of her stomach, pushing her forward and pressing her against the door with a hard shudder, and she gasps as his hand slides up to grasp one of her breasts and giving it a squeeze. He pushes her suit open a little more, her vest down her arm and onto the floor as he bares her other breast to him, and he dips down to seal his lips around her nipple, drawing a moan from her lips as he sucks at it firmly. Her voice sounds loud and almost harsh in the quiet space of the room, but she forgets to be conscious about the others wandering elsewhere in the Facility. Forgets to _care_ about trying to be quiet.

She pushes her fingers into his hair, twist it in her grasp as he lets his teeth graze against her skin. “Make sure you leave a mark,” she breathes, tugging sharply at his scalp and making his groan against her breast. His eyes flick up to meet her gaze as he sinks his teeth into her, nipping hard enough to make her whimper. He knows she likes it, though. He knows she _wants_ it. “Make sure I can feel you tomorrow,” she says, her voice pleading, and he lets out a harsh and shaky breath against her skin, because he knows what she means.

_Make sure I can feel you, because I don’t know if we’ll get another chance._

He nips at her again, soothes the indent in her skin with a quick swipe of his tongue. _  
_

_Make sure I can feel you, because I may not be by your side for much longer.  
_

He pulls his mouth off of her, leaving a trail of wait, open-mouthed kisses as he reaches her other breast, biting at her skin again.

_Make sure I can feel you, because I’m terrified I won’t be able to soon.  
_

“Steve,” she cries as his lips seal around her other nipple, letting his teeth graze it as he sucks firmly, and her hands shaking as she fumbles for the buckle of his belt. He knows he should help her get it undone, but instead he slides his hand lower, slipping under her suit and between her legs to find her sex _dripping_. Her hips jerk against his hand, his gloved fingers sliding into her folds and quickly seeking out her little bundle of nerves, and her head falls back against the door as she moans.

“They’ll hear you, love,” he says into her skin, kissing up to her collarbone and biting into her shoulder. It almost sounds like a warning, but then he presses his face into skin and kisses her. “I want this whole damn building to hear you.”

“ _Fuck me_ ,” she breathes out. “I need to feel you.”

“Then pull me out.” He skims his lips along the curve of her neck, licking a stripe up her skin as she shakes her head. She can’t think, can’t focus, but he gently grasps her by her wrists and guides her hands over the hard length of him through his suit, stifling a groan into her neck as he rocks his hips into her palms. “Pull me out,” he repeats, his voice soothing, encouraging, calming the rush of anxieties swirling inside of her. “I need to feel you, too. So fucking bad.”

She swallows as he lets go of her wrists, and she finally, _finally_ , gets his belt undone, all but yanking it out of the way as she unzips his pants and reaches inside. He lets out a deep, delicious groan as she wraps her fingers around him, pulling him out and stroking down the length of him. He kisses her, nips at her lip, and then pulls back to meet her gaze.

“Hello, Mrs. Rogers,” he whispers, and she swears her heart cracks wide open.

“Hello, Mr. Rogers.”

She guides him to her entrance as he reaches up to cup her cheek, sweeping the pad of his thumb over her flushed skin. He holds her gaze as he leans his forehead against hers, like he’s afraid to close his eyes, afraid that she’ll fade right in front of him if he dares to look away. She gives him a gentle squeeze as his arousal wets her palm, his length pulsing in her grasp.

He reaches between them, curves his hand over hers and tangles their fingers together as he starts to push in, and her eyelashes flutter closed at the stretch of him as he sinks inside. The first push is always a little too much, a little too overwhelming, and she _loves_ it. She swallows, her throat feeling tight, and his thumb guides hers up to rub over her little bundle of nerves, making her arch off of the door.

“ _Too soon_ ,” she whimpers as he starts to circle her thumb over herself. She’s shaking, vibrating with pleasure, and her eyes are nearly closed as she tries to hold his gaze. _I’ll come too soon_ , she wants to say, but she can’t quite find her voice, can’t quite catch her breath.

“I’ve got you,” he reassures, circling tighter as he starts to thrust in a little faster. He isn’t as deep as she wants him because of the angle and their suits still half in the way, but, _fuck_ , it still feels so good. “Just let go, Nat. I’ve got you.”

She mewls and draws her hand away, slides them under the top half of his suit and up the muscles of his back, feeling them flex and coil as he moves in and out of her. She’s right there on that edge, and then he dips down, kissing her as his thumb circles gently over her clit, and she falls apart with a muffled cry of his name against his lips. He doesn’t relent, though - of course he doesn’t - angling his hips a little more and thrusting in a little faster as his thumb keeps circling over her in an unrelenting rhythm.

She cries out, her body shaking, her fingernails scratching deeply down his back as he fucks her through her orgasm, wringing out every ounce of her high. Her legs are shaking, her knees nearly giving out underneath her, but his other hand comes up to firmly grip her hip, pinning her in place against the door as it shudders under the force of them. He bites down on her lower lip as he quickens his pace, kissing her harder, deeper, her lungs burning for air that she doesn’t dare pull away to breathe. She doesn’t want to stop feeling him. She doesn’t want this to end.

“Steve,” she whimpers, not quite sure what she wants to say, but she feels overwhelmed, feels like she’s falling too quickly.

He yanks his lips from hers, kisses the corner of her mouth, the apple of her cheek, the underside of her jaw. “ _Nat_ , Nat,” he groans, her walls fluttering and tightening around him. He’s close - she can tell by how much harsher his hips are thrusting into her, how erratic his rhythm has become - and she is, too.

His lips find her pulse, pressing over her clit a little harder, and the sharp, harsh bite of his teeth over her neck pushes her over that edge, her second orgasm bursting over her before the tremors of her first can even subside. He exhales sharply against her skin, thrusting in deeper, faster, and then pressing his hips flushed to hers as he groans out, his warmth spilling inside of her.

Their harsh, broken breaths fill the space of the room, and she knows that they were loud. She knows there’s a chance someone heard them.

She doesn’t care, though. She doesn’t care about anything else but how it feels to be pressed against Steve like this, her skin tender where he’d bitten her.

He kisses the indent of his teeth on her neck, then peppers his lips up, up, up to her lips, kissing her softly. His fingers slip under her suit, finding the small zipper inside and tugging it open to slip out her ring, and she feels her heart flutter, feels her lips curve in a smile as he gently pulls her glove off of her left hand and slips the ring back into place. He draws her hand to his lips, kissing the band, and then he lets her draw it away to cup his cheek, blinking her eyes open to meet his gaze.

“I want you right next to me,” he tells her, giving her hips a gentle squeeze.

She nods, her eyelashes dotting with tears when she blinks them. “I will,” she promises, her voice light with a contentment - a _hopefulness_ \- she’s only ever felt because of him. “It’s the only place I ever want to be.”


	39. Bucky/Maria - #1, 39, 40, 95

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~1,700  
>  **prompt:** 1\. Naughty girls are always worth it. + 39. Fuck me like you mean it. + 40. Pressed hard up against the wall. + 95. Don’t waste it. Come inside me.  
>  **for:** an anon
> 
> also inspired by [this photo](https://sexyhappychic.tumblr.com/post/174908164183) (nsfw)

“You know, darling,” he says, his voice low and just a little bit gravelly in the small, dark space of her room, and she spins around on her heels as he flicks on the bedside lamp. “You sure know how to keep a guy waiting.”

Her lips twitch, threatening to curve into a smile. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

He chuckles as he eases himself off of her bed, and she lets her gaze trace down his bared chest, lingering at where his sweats are hanging low on his hips as he walks over to her. He reaches for her with his metal hand, gently grasps her chin in his fingers and tips her head back to meet his gaze. His lips curve at the corners in a small smirk, and he leans in, brushes his mouth over hers in a gentle, barely there kiss, the way he does every time she comes home. He’s only started spending nights at her apartment within the last three months, but it’s easy for her to forget what it was like before he’d become such an apparent presence in her home, in her _life_.

She eases her lips off of his, kisses the corner of his mouth before drawing away. “You didn’t have to stay up for me, sergeant,” she says, her voice softer as she leans into him a little more. She’s _exhausted_ , but she can already feel it ebbing as he wraps his arms around her, draws her flushed to his chest.

“It’s alright.” He gives her that dimpled, _boyish_ smile of his that almost always makes her swoon, just a little bit. “Naughty girls are always worth it.”

“Naughty?” she repeats with a raise of her eyebrows.

“You’ve let me bend you over the conference table and take you from behind,” he tells her, his voice smooth and deep and almost dangerous as he leans in and nips at her jaw. “You come to work without underwear because you know I’ll drag you into your office as soon as I find out.” He presses his face into her neck, exhaling a sharp, hot breath, and her eyelashes flutter at the tease of his lips against her throat. “You threw me onto the mats and rode me in the middle of the gym because you were so damn pissed that pinned you.” He sinks his teeth into her pulse, and she bites down on her lower lip to stifle a moan. “You are _incredibly_ naughty, Director Hill.”

She breathes out a laugh. “I think that’s because you’re a bad influence.”

He draws away, his eyes twinkling in amusement. “You’re too damn stubborn to be influenced.” He tugs at the zipper of her dress, dragging it down her back, and she feels it starting to fall away from her shoulders as she holds his gaze. “Though maybe you can be persuaded to let me join you in the shower?”

She hums as she steps back, letting her dress fall to the floor, and a smirk tugs at her lips as his lips part ever so slightly, taking in the fact that she hadn’t been wearing anything underneath. “Is that a question or a command, Barnes?”

A low, rumbling groan rips from his throat, sounding very close to a _growl_ as his lips are on hers again, harder and deeper and _dirtier_. He wraps his metal arm around her, all but dragging her forward and into the bathroom, and she sucks in a gasp as she feels herself being pressed hard up against the wall. He snaps at the clasp of her bra, pushing it off, and then he yanks her panties down with a harsh tug, biting down on her lower lip.

She presses her hands against his chest, drags her nails down the dips of his muscles and then slips past the waistband of his sweats. He groans as her fingers wrap around him, finding the wetness of his tip and spreading it over her palm before stroking down his length. “Sergeant,” she says, and his eyes blink open, his gaze a little hazed over as he meets her stare. She squeezes gently and his jaw ticks in his effort not to groan. “Turn on the water.”

“Fucking _bossy_ ,” he breathes out with a grin, stumbling a little as he steps backward. She keeps the strokes of her hands tight and teasing as he fumbles for the handle on the wall, very nearly tearing it off as he twists the water on.

“You love it when I’m bossy,” she retorts, using her free hand to push his sweats down his hips, and then he’s laughing as he slants his mouth over hers and bats her hand away, tugging her with him under the spray of the shower.

“Oh, darling,” he says against her lips, “it’s definitely the other way around.”

She leans away, arching an eyebrow as his metal hand slides over the curve of her ass, giving it a squeeze and very nearly making her jump.

“Turn around and put your hands on the wall,” he commands, and her heart stutters in her chest, a warmth unfurling in her stomach at his tone. There’s a bit of a smirk on his lips as he raises his eyebrows, almost as if daring her to challenge him, though he knows she won’t. Because she _does_ love it. She loves it when he’s demanding, loves it when he’s rough, and there’s no one that can quiet her thoughts quite like him. His hand squeezes her ass again, just a little bit harder, and her lips part in a soft, strangled sort of moan as he repeats: “Turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

She narrows her eyes ever so slightly, just because she feels like being stubborn, and he chuckles as she finally complies. She bends at her hips when she’s facing away from him, leaning over to press her palms flat against the tile. The spray from the water slides down her back, drips down her shoulders and over her breasts, making her arch her spine in an urge to shiver.

Then his hands slide over her hips, squeezing gently as the hard length of him presses between her legs.

“Remember the last time I had you like this?” he asks, leaning over her to kiss the top of her spine, then skimming his lips down the curve of her shoulder to bite into her skin. She draws a breath to tell him that she _does;_ she remembers him pushing her up against the wall of showers in the locker room of the Facility, remembers the way her heart had nearly stopped when she heard Sam and Steve’s voices filtering in from the lockers. She remembers how it was the first time she and Bucky had ever gone without a condom, remembers how she felt so entirely overwhelmed by the bare stretch of him against her folds that she fucking _begged_ for him not to pull out. (“ _Don’t waste it_ ,” she’d demanded when she felt his hips jerking, his muscles tightening as his orgasm neared. “ _Come inside me_.”)

But before she can even get a word out, he’s sinking into her from behind slowly - _so fucking slowly -_ and her moan echoes off of the walls. He always feels so much deeper like this, making her knees quiver, making her walls flutter. She mewls as he pulls out, then scratches her nails against the tile as he snaps his hips, sinking back in. He does this once, twice, three times, his lips brushing against the curve of her throat as he finds a slow, teasing rhythm.

It’s somehow too much and not enough, and she groans in frustration, trying to roll her hips against the firm grip of his hands.

“ _Barnes,_ ” she breathes, his name almost a curse, or maybe even a plea.

But he ignores her, keeping the deep, torturous pace of his thrusts as he continues with, “Every time I take a shower at the Facility, all I can picture is you pressed between me and the wall, biting down on my hand to keep from making a sound.” He bites down on her shoulder again, then soothes the indent of his teeth with a soft lick, smirking into her skin. “Sam and Steve almost walked in on us.” He snaps his hips, making her gasp with the sudden, sharp thrust, and a shiver rolls down her spine. “I think you’d like that.”

She mutters a curse, feeling the pressure tighten at the base of her spine, her heart stuttering in her chest.

“I think that’s why you like fucking at the Facility so much.” His hand slips between her legs, his fingers gliding over her slick folds to find her little bundle of nerves as his thrusts quicken. “I think you want someone to see us. To see _you_ getting lost in your pleasure, forgetting to give a damn about what needs to be done.” His thumb moves over her clit in quick, tight circles, his other hand digging into her hip as he angles himself and thrusts in even deeper.

“Fuck me _harder_ , sergeant.” She licks her lips, her breaths coming out quicker and shallower, her lungs burning. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

He groans, curves his body over hers as he draws his hand up from between her legs, pressing his fingers at her lips. She darts her tongue out, licking her wetness off of him, and then he grunts out a, “ _fuck_ ,” as she wraps her lips around his thumb and sucks. 

Her knees quiver, his thumb pressing harder into her mouth as the hand at her hip grips her so tightly that it almost hurts. She’s close, she’s _so close_ –

Then, with a soft, feather-light kiss to her ear, he stills his hips, halting her right on that dizzying edge, and she _whimpers_. He slips his thumb out from between her lips, grasps her chin and tilts her head back to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark and stormy as he licks his lips, and she feels her stomach flutter at that dangerous twinkle in his gaze.

“You made me wait, darling, so now it’s your turn,” he tells her, his lips twitching in a smirk as he brushes her hair from her face. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

She breathes out a laugh, which dissolves into a moan as he starts to pull back out again, sending another ripple down her spine.

She fucking _loves_ being home.


	40. Bruce/Selina - #8, 39, 72, 80, 90, 91, 94

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~2,100  
>  **prompt:** 8\. Feeling him come inside of you. + 39. Fuck me like you mean it. + 72. Do you want it harder, sweetheart? + 80. Surprise me with something new tonight. + 90. Two fingers gently squeeze her clit. + 91. I want you here and now. + 94. Seeing the bite marks hours later.  
>  **for:** batfamskitty and an anon
> 
> (Edit: I realized afterward that I put the prompt for 81 instead of 80 - “The moment he is fully inside.” - yet coincidentally I still included that, just not the phrase itself. Sorry about the mix-up!)

“Well, darling,” she says, arching an eyebrow as Bruce glances over his shoulder to meet her gaze. “I can’t say I expected to see you in here.”

His lips twitch in a grin as he starts to turn to face her, but she steps forward and slips her arms around his torso from behind, pressing her lips to the back of his neck. He hums, slips one of his large, warm hands over hers against his stomach and rubs the pad of his thumb over her ring. “I was across the street when I saw you come through the store window,” he admits, and she can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “I’m trying to decide if I’m offended that _this_ was more important than joining me for lunch.”

“If you’re offended by your wife buying new lingerie then we may have a problem,” she says, and his chest vibrates with a deep chuckle. “And here I thought you’d appreciate being surprised with something new tonight.”

He curls his hand around her wrist, brings it up to kiss the inside of her palm.

“You don’t need to buy something new,” he murmurs against her skin, his lips brushing against her ring. “I’ll just end up tearing it off.”

She can’t help the laugh that bursts from her as she leans away, and he tilts his head to meet her gaze. “How romantic of you.” He smirks, reaches around and pulls her to his chest, and she gently scratches her nails down his back through his dress shirt. “So you wouldn’t like to help me pick out something pretty?”

His gaze flicks down to her lips, and she darts her tongue out to wet them. He swallows, glancing toward the sales associates at the other end of the store still helping a group of women that have been here for the last twenty minutes, no doubt shopping on their lunch break. No one seems to be paying the two of them any attention - no one had even noticed when Bruce first walked in - and what little wariness she’d had about wanting to drag him back to her dressing room dissolves. Honestly, at this point, it’s their fault for not paying attention.

“They’ll probably discourage me from following you back there.”

She reaches up, wraps his tie around her hand and tugs him forward, one eyebrow arched. “When have we ever done what was _encouraged?_ ” _  
_

He breathes out a chuckle as he leans over, slanting his lips over hers rather than answering, and she tugs him back through the curtains closing off the dressing room. She’s had the dressing rooms all to herself since she walked into the boutique half an hour ago, and with the associates preoccupied with their new customers, Selina doubts anyone will be coming to check on them soon. Still, she drags him into her dressing room, switches the lock into place and pushes him toward the velvet chaise in the corner. If he bothers to glance around, he’d notice all of the lingerie hanging on the rack, and piled on the other end of the chaise. But his hazy, hungry gaze is fixed on her as she grasps at the hem of her dress and tugs it over her head, a low groan falling from his lips when he sees that she had been entirely bare underneath.

“Shush, darling,” she says in an exaggerated whisper, pushing him down by his shoulders so that he’s sitting on the chaise. She slips one hand over his mouth as she climbs onto his lap to straddle him, pressing the index finger of her other hand to her lips. “You don’t want someone coming to interrupt us, do you?”

He hums, nips at the inside of her palm, and she breathes out a soft laugh as she draws her hand away, pushing it up and into his hair. He slips his hand over her hip, down the dip of her legs, and she sucks in a sharp, shallow breath as his fingers find the wet folds of her sex. He arches an eyebrow at her, his smirk sliding back into place as he leans up to kiss her, slowly stroking over her.

“You’re _dripping_ ,” he murmurs against her lips, spreading her wetness with his middle finger. She tries to rock into his palm, but his other hand curves over her hip and squeezes, holding her in place. She glances up at him, eyes narrowing. But of course this only makes him chuckle. “Were you thinking of me while you tried everything on?” He leans in, wraps his lips around a nipple and sucks firmly, and she arches into him, letting her head fall back. “Were you taking more pictures to distract me with during my meetings?”

“Not everything is about _you_ , Mr. Wayne.”

She’d meant it to be a taunt, but her voice comes out far too breathy, far too shaky as he slides his hand up, two fingers gently squeezing her clit.

“You’re bruising my ego, Mrs. Wayne,” he plays along, squeezing again, and her hips jerk against his grip. She slides hand over his shoulder, digs her nails into his skin as she tries to roll her hips, needing _more_. “Do you want it harder, sweetheart?” he asks, then does it again before she can respond, a little firmer this time, and she sucks in a gasp as her walls flutter. It’s ridiculous how much she _aches_ for him to be inside her, and of course he senses this, sliding his fingers away from her clit to dip into her entrance. “Tell me what you want,” he demands, sinking two fingers into her as his thumb brushes her little bundle of nerves. He already knows what she wants - he always does - but he still wants her to say the words. He wants to follow her lead.

Her forehead falling against his as she lets out a sharp, shaky breath. “I want you here and now,” she whispers, then kisses him deep and dirty, and his grip on her hips loosens, letting her sink herself further onto his fingers. “I want to feel you come inside of me.” She twists the hand in his hair, tugs it in her grasp because she knows he loves that tiny bite of pain as much as she does. “I want you to fuck me like you mean it.”

He kisses her harder, muffling his groans into her mouth as curls his fingers inside of her, finding that sweet spot that always, _always_ makes her cry out. She bites down hard on his lower lip to keep from making a noise, but he doesn’t even flinch, curling his fingers again as his thumb slides firmly over her clit and starts circling. She’s shaking, her walls fluttering, and she knows that she’ll fall apart too damn soon if he keeps that up, and she doesn’t want that right now.

She wants _him_.

“Bruce,” she breathes out, almost in a whine, but she couldn’t care less. There’s nothing and no one that makes her feel more empowered than this man beneath her, and she’ll gladly _beg_ if it means seeing his eyes entirely glazed over in arousal, his keen, determined focus fixed solely on _her_.

He pulls his hand away, letting her catch her breath as she reaches between them and fumbles with the buckle of his belt, yanking it open. His jaw clenches when she slips inside and wraps her hand around him, drawing him out, and she licks her lips as the wetness she feels against her palm. She spreads it with her thumb, then slides herself closer, guiding his length between her wet folds and sliding herself over him. His jaw ticks, his throat flexing as he swallows tightly, and she has the urge to _giggle_.

Fuck, they’re so ridiculous.

“Won’t last long,” he groans, not sounding even a little be ashamed or regretful. As much as he enjoys teasing her and outlasting her, simply because that’s how they _are_ \- so incredibly, playfully competitive, and probably far more childish than people would expect - he enjoys losing himself in her more. It’s not a matter of pride for him when he’s with her; he simply takes, and he does it with the comfort of knowing that she’s just as greedy.

“Probably a good thing,” she says, kissing the scruff along his jaw as she lifts herself over him, presses him at her entrance. “We’re pushing our luck as it is.”

“That’s never exactly stopped us before,” he points out, and her soft, breathy laugh quickly dissolves into a moan as he grasps her hips and sinks her over him, until their hips are flushed. She digs her nails into his scalp, a white-hot rush of warmth shooting through her just as it does with every first thrust. She hopes it never stops feeling this perfect, hopes it never stops feeling this intense.

He guides her up and then back down, knowing that she always needs a moment to relish in the deep, full stretch of him, even though they hardly have the luxury of taking their time. She kisses up his jaw, over his cheek, and then presses her mouth to his as she starts to roll her hips on her own, quickly finding a rhythm. There’s a soft, almost melancholic tune playing over the speakers of the store, but it’ll hardly be enough to muffle the sounds of them and she’s far, far too turned on by that than she should be. She’s had Bruce in his office, in bathrooms of hotels and restaurants and _art museums_ during galas and charity functions, but this is something else entirely. She doesn’t dare make a sound, knows that she _can’t_ , but part of her still aches to cry out as he starts to thrust up into her, almost bruising in his pace and his force.

He digs one hand into her hip again, slides the other down and between her legs, finding her clit and circling, and a moan slips past her lips before she can quite catch herself. He kisses her harder, muffling her sounds as he presses his thumb a little firmer, making her body shudder, making her close her eyes so tightly she sees stars.

“Can you stay quiet?” he asks, licking into her gasping mouth before drawing back to meet her eyes, and she bites on her lip. She really doesn’t know, but she’s close - so, _so close_ \- and she doesn’t dare want him to stop. So he tips his head back, arching his neck, and her fingers fumble to loosen the knot of his tie, get the top two buttons of his shirt undone to peel back his collar. He snaps his hips, hitting that sweet spot in her as his thumb presses, and she sinks her teeth into the curve of his shoulder so hard that she swears she can taste blood. His chest rumbles in a low, low groan, muffled by the tight set of his jaw.

She licks at the indent of her teeth, soothing the bruise that she knows will be there, but then he’s angling his hips and hitting that spot again and again and _again_ , and she bites down, harder, feeling his pulse throb against her tongue. She whimpers and moans, muffling her sounds into his neck as he pushes her right on that dizzying edge, and everything grows blurry and dizzy and white-hot as her orgasm bursts over her. She thinks her cries are perfectly smothered as she sinks her teeth into his neck, but honestly, she can’t entirely be sure.

He keeps thrusting through her high, his hips growing erratic, growing harsher as he chases his own orgasm, and she’s not sure how long it takes but then his warmth is spilling inside her and his hands are tightly digging into her hips as he holds her flushed to him, her walls fluttering and tightening as his orgasm crashes over him.

She loosens her jaw when, finally, her breathing starts to even out, the tremors of her high rippling over her, and then she eases herself back.

 _Fuck_. She touches her fingertips to the angry, harsh bites of her teeth in his neck, glancing up to meet his gaze. He grins, giving her a soft, reassuring kiss to the bridge of her nose, and she gently rubs the color beginning to bruise along his throat. At least she’d had the forethought to bite underneath his collar because there’s absolutely no way he’ll be able to hide those marks.

“You know,” she says after a moment, her voice raspy and a little uneven in her effort to catch her breath. “You didn’t even _glance_ at any of the lingerie.”

His chest vibrates against hers with a chuckle. “Just surprise me with something new tonight,” he tells her, lifting his hand to run his knuckles over her flushed cheek, and her heart does this little flutter in her chest. “As long as it’s you, I’ll love it.”


	41. Steve/Natasha - #21, 35, 47, 69, 98, 99

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **word count:** ~2,200  
>  **prompt:** 21\. Each of my fantasies involves you. + 35. Make me come with your words. + 47. Tell me how you’d fuck me. + 69. I’ll make your fantasies come true. + 98. Hands tied. Eyes blindfolded. Legs spread. + 99. Tell me about your last orgasm.  
>  **for:** sleepygrimm and halexhydra
> 
> also for ykceb01 who wanted a scenario where Nat ties Steve up and he ends up breaking it
> 
> takes place before Infinity War in my [married!Romanogers ‘verse](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/tagged/married-%27verse)

It had mostly been a joke, an attempt to get that exasperated, adoring smile of his that she loves a little too much - but the fact that he had actually paused in genuine consideration had made her stomach flutter, had made her skin _tingle_.

They’d both made it to the safe house three days ago, but before then it had been two weeks since they split up so he could check in with Wanda and she could rendezvous with Maria and Nick. She’d got caught up in a robbery just before she made it to Vienna, and she remembers the way Steve had almost paled when he saw the rip on her suit, the stain of blood poking out from the haphazard wrapping she’d done to keep the wound closed. It was little more than a graze, and she knows his worry wasn’t out of doubt in her ability to fend for herself. He simply hated having to leave her in the first place.

It almost felt as if he was terrified to touch her at first, even as he insisted on cleaning it out and re-wrapping the bandaging, until eventually he couldn’t _stop_ touching her. Like he needed the reassurance of her warmth against his, her flesh in his hands and her heart thrumming in her chest as he brushed his lips over every pulse point. He still wouldn’t _touch_ her, though - his muscles taut and his body trembling in his restraint - and though she loved him for being gentle, for worrying, it was sort of driving her _crazy_. She knows just how fragile she is, and the last thing she wants it for him to be distracted by it, too.

“If you’re afraid to hurt me, maybe I should tie you up so you _can’t_.”

It had been a _joke_ , something lazily slipped from her lips, her mind tingling and her blood thrumming with the alcohol. She felt just as airy and light as she had that night in their little Las Vegas hotel room, when he’d asked her to marry him and she said _yes_ \- and, it seems like maybe this is their _thing_ , because he had given her a long, lingering stare as soon as the words were out, licking his lips.

“You _could_ ,” he’d considered, his voice low, gravelly. It was - absurd. He was enhanced in every way possible with a serum, hardened over time. Trained into the perfect soldier. There was no way a few ropes could hope to hold him long.

But… with a flutter in her stomach, she’d figured, _why not give it a shot?_

And she’s really, really glad that she did.

She leans over him, tugging at the knot binding his hands to one of the metal posts of the headboard, maybe a little bit impressed with herself. She knows that if he tries hard enough, he could tear through it and most likely will in a few hours. But for now he’s completely immobilized, bound tight enough that he can barely wiggle his wrist against the knots, but not tight enough that it cut off the flow of blood. She slides her hand down his forearm, tracing her fingers over the firm threads of muscles in his forearm, dipping her index finger over a spot on the inside of bicep that makes him tense ever so slightly, and she bites down on her lip as she feels his breaths quicken beneath her as she straddles his chest. She knows he can feel how wet she’d gotten tying him up, the wet, bare folds of her sex rubbing lightly over his stomach, and, _fuck_.

It’s ridiculous how much she enjoys indulging herself in this man.

“You alright there, soldier?” she asks, dipping down to kiss his cheek, just under the edge of the pillowcase that she’d rolled and tied over his eyes.

She slips her arms on either side of his head, lowers herself until she’s pressed flat against his chest, and he makes this little noise from the back of his throat as she brushes her lips over his. It’s gentle at first, barely a touch, and she has to close her eyes and twist her fingers into the pillow him to keep from kissing him harder and deeper, to keep from lose herself in him too quickly. He nips at her lower lip, then parts his mouth for her, letting her slip her tongue inside and taste him.

Slowly, _slowly_ , she eases back, lifts her head to smile down at him, even though he can’t see this. He _knows_ , though. He always does.

“Each of my fantasies involves you,” she tells him, her voice soft, almost a whisper as she touches her hand to his throat, feeling it flex under her fingers as he swallows lightly. He knows that she means _more_ \- knows that she’s not just trying to tease him or rile him up - and his pulse thrums in his neck as he exhales slowly, waiting for her to continue. “My world has only ever been me,” she admits, pressing her face to his, scratching her nails lightly down the scruff along his jaw. “But now I think that it’s only _you_.” His lips part, and she knows that she’d find his gaze warm and adoring and _so fucking loving_ if his eyes hadn’t been covered. “Seeing you like this: hands tied, eyes blindfolded, legs spread - all I can think about is that you’re _mine_. I _want_ you to be mine.”

His lips curve into a small, dimpled smile. “You know I already am.”

“You shouldn’t be,” she says with a bit of a laugh, sliding herself a little lower down his body, pressing a kiss just above his heart. “And I shouldn’t be yours. Not when there are people counting on us. Not when we’ve made such a mess of things. We should be entirely focused on making things right.”

“Well, considering we’re fugitives, maybe we’re allowed to be a little selfish.”

She smiles against his skin, sinks her teeth gently into the spot just above his stomach that always, always drives him crazy, and his muscles quiver under her touch. “What I feel for you is hardly _little_ , Rogers,” she corrects, pressing her left hand over his heart, her ring glinting in the dim glow of the lamp, and then sliding her hands down to his ribs, scratching gently and making his body jerk. His length is hard where it’s pressing against the curve of her ass, and she licks her lips, scratching a little harder. “Tell me about your last orgasm,” she tells him, rubbing her hips against his stomach, letting him feel her arousal.

“What?” he breathes out with a bit of a laugh.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, soldier.” She braces a hand against his chest and pushes herself to sit upright, letting him feel her fingers trace against his stomach as they slide along the inside of her thigh, reaching the wet folds of her sex. His breath hitches, his shoulders tensing, and she knows that he’s picturing what she must look like sitting on top of him, touching herself. “I’ve definitely thought of you when we were apart,” she says, lazily circling her index finger over her clit, making her hips twitch. Fuck, she’s _wet_. “In fact, you may hurt my feelings if you say you didn’t come while thinking of me.”

He chuckles, his voice gravelly and a little breathless. “Darling, you’re the _only_ thing I think about when we’re apart.” His lips curve in a lazy sort of smile, and she can imagine his eyes glazed over in arousal under his blindfold, burning in hunger.

Her stomach flutters at his words, and she leans forward, traps her fingers between her sex and his stomach as she kisses him again, slower and harder and _dirtier_. Because she can’t quite help herself. She wants to tease him, to draw this out, but her composure is quickly dissolving as she stares down at him spread out beneath her, so very _hard_ just because he loves this as much as she does. She can feel the wetness from his tip rubbing against the curve of her ass, can feel him pulsing lightly with her every little shift, and she _loves it_.

“Do you think of me on top of you like this?” she asks, rubbing at her clit and sucking on his bottom lip. He groans, the ropes straining as he tugs against their grip, but they hold him in place. “Or maybe you think of _me_ being tied up like this, spread out, completely at your mercy.” She leans forward, nips at the lobe of his ear and then licks at the indent of her teeth. “Maybe you think about being so sweetly _cruel_ to me. Teasing me, tasting me, touching me until I’m writhing and begging for pleasure that you won’t give me.”

“ _Nat_ ,” he groans, his hips jerking up, and she tightens her thighs around him in a quiet command for him to stay still.

“Maybe you like keeping me on that edge, maybe you get yourself off and then _leave_ me gasping, leave me unsatisfied, simply because you know I’ll let you.” She rolls her hips back, his hard length rubbing against her sex, and his entire body pulls tight as she rolls her hips, sliding her wetness onto him. “Or maybe you make me come until I’m begging you to _stop_ , because it hurts, but you just love hearing me cry out. Because that’s certainly what _I_ think of.”

“Fucking _hell_ ,” he breathes, sounding deliciously _wrecked_. “You trying to make me come with just your words?”

Her stomach flips at the thought - at the idea that she could have _that_ much power over him, that he takes _that_ much pleasure in her - that she practically blurts out, “That’s what I came to last night.” His chest is rising and falling almost dramatically as he struggles to breathe, the rope straining again as he starts to pull at it. “In the bath, after you brought me to a sweet, soft orgasm with your fingers and your lips. I loved it - I love _you_ \- but I wanted _more_. I’m selfish, remember? A fucking _monster_.”

“ _Nat_ ,” he breathes, like he can’t help himself. Like he needs to say it.

“I thought about you leaning over me, reaching into the tub and making me come again and again with your fingers until every part of me _aches._ Until I can’t _breathe_.” She kisses the apple of his cheek, the bridge of his nose. “I imagined you kissing me as I try to pull away, telling me how you’d fuck me as soon as I got out, or maybe climb in because you couldn’t wait.” She places her hand at his throat, feeling it flex as he swallows, feeling his pulse pounding wildly and erratically under her touch. “I like it when you’re rough with me,” she confesses against the column of his neck, kissing him there. “I like it when you get so lost in me that you can’t help it, and it kind of broke my heart these last few days, feeling like you were afraid to even touch me anymore.”

With a groan she feels his biceps flex, hears the ropes snapping open under the force of his pull, and then she’s gasping into his mouth as one of his hands tangles into her hair and yanks her lips to his in a hard, _dirty_ kiss. He rolls them over and pins her to the bed beneath him, and it isn’t until the warmth of his release is hitting her stomach that she even realizes that he’s coming. A shiver rolls down her spine, her entire body shuddering as he kisses her harder, biting down on her lower lip when she reaches between them and curves her hand around his length, their fingers tangling together as they both stroke him through his orgasm.

She licks her lips when he eases off of them, feels herself smile when she lightly runs the pad of her thumb over his tip, making his body jerk above her. “ _Nat_ ,” he warns, breathless, and she barely bites back a smile as she draws her hand away entirely, reaching up to start undoing the knot of the pillowcase. She pulls it away, drops it aside as and cups his face as he blinks his eyes open, is glassy, glazed eyes clearing just a little bit when he meets her gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, his voice entirely sincere even as the hunger flashes in his eyes, almost contradicting his words as he gathers both of her wrists in one hand and squeezes, pulling her arms above her head and pinning it in place.

“For being so paranoid?” she asks, opening her legs a little wider as she arches an eyebrow at him. “Or for what’s about to happen next?”

His lips curve into a small, dangerous sort of smile. “Probably both.” He leans in to kiss her once, twice, three times, and she shudders when she feels his other hand slip between their bodies to find her sex, rubbing at her clit and drawing a whimper from his touch. “I’ll make your fantasies come true,” he promises, “so you’ll probably want to brace yourself, because your descriptions were far from _gentle_.”

Her eyelashes flutter closed as a shiver slides down her spine, and then his lips are on hers again, the rest of the world melting away until all she can feel is _him_.


End file.
